


Just My Type

by jin_pa_ca



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fluff, Gay, Romance, alma is gay change my mind, and creating ocs is literally my hobby, but not really, it doesnt take that long for the romance dw, its an oc because i actually cannot do reader, kind of mature in some parts i suppose, thats the sequel ;), this is my first lesbian fanfic ive ever published be nice, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25115641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jin_pa_ca/pseuds/jin_pa_ca
Summary: '“Right on time. You must be Josephine Arquette. Wonderful to finally meet you, I’m Miss Peregrine,” she pockets her watch and thrusts her hand out for me to shake. I stare at it rather blankly for a moment, and when I look up at her face and take in her sharp features, I blanch further.This woman is exactly my type. Radiating confidence and natural beauty, dark hair, tall, with a beautiful smile. This woman is breathtaking.There’s not really much else to do but faint.'(Hi I'm back after so long! And I know this isn't my usual thing, I'm more of a BTS fanfiction writer and I mostly do one-shots however there is a stunning LACK of Miss Peregrine content to read so I thought I'd take the matter into my own hands and wrote my own story. It's gay, it's romantic, it's updated regularly, what more could you want?I will be changing some things to fit my own story and timeline but everything will mostly be the same and in line with the movie so if you see any differences sorry, I’m forgetful and it’s usually deliberate.)
Relationships: Alma LeFay Peregrine/Original Female Character(s), Alma LeFay Peregrine/Reader
Comments: 35
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1 - The Worst Trip

**Author's Note:**

> HI! IM ALIVE! It's been so long and I have been DYING to post smth so here! I'm worried that no one will be interested in a miss peregrine x reader/oc, but I gave it my best shot and hope you enjoy! It's a multichapter and I'm already looking forward to writing the sequel - which I have a plan for. 
> 
> Anyway, I will be posting the first three chapters today, and the rest is up to you, I currently have a few ready rearing to go but drop some comments if you think I should publish the rest :,)

This was a terrible, awful, stupid idea.

Who in their right  _ mind  _ would say yes to such a ridiculous, middle of nowhere trip to none other than miserable Cairnholm, an island off the coast of Wales. 

It’s so nowhere that you have to go by ferry. Which is fine, except it’s an outside ferry. And it’s cold and raining. France is lovely and sunny compared to this but I’m rather lucky I thought to bring along a raincoat and several jumpers.

I’m to be staying for research purposes only; specifically to examine the ruins of a destroyed children’s home back from the nineteen-forties. It was hit by a bomb during an attack by the Germans. Apparently, the bomb wasn’t meant to be released on the home, and yet it was, destroying all traces of life and the home they all lived in.

Such a sad story. Something I myself couldn’t possibly relate to. However, there was one aspect of the home that I could.

I’d heard through my grandmother, a self-proclaimed ‘peculiar’ that the home housed many children with special abilities. At first I thought she meant that they were all disabled in some way, but I was quickly proven wrong.

According to her, the children’s abilities were not of this world. In fact, you’d think I was crazy if I told you that a girl could create fire from the touch of her hands, a boy that was entirely invisible, another girl who was lighter than air and could float away, only weighed down by the heavy lead of her boots.

At first, I thought mémé was absolutely full of shit. I was 20 when she told me, and I had no reason to believe her, until she showed me her own little special skill.

She could bend parts of her body that were  _ not  _ supposed to bend at all in different ways that were entirely unnatural.

“C’est fantastique!” I would say, and she’d laugh and tell me more. This time, I found no other reason for her to be lying.

When I thought about it, I assumed that she was probably heavily double-jointed, which isn’t really that rare or special by any means. But her medical records said no such thing. What they did say, however, was that she was riddled with dementia during the last few years of her life. She’d died a year ago.

I was devastated to see her go, she was my only friend besides my maman, who would recite tales I’d never heard from her lips that happened  _ way  _ before I was born.

“Your grandmother used to live in Wales, you see. She was curious by nature, like you, but less stubborn,” - I’d wrinkle my nose in faux annoyance - “there was a children’s home. The children rarely wandered outside, but she knew of their abilities, as she had her own. For some unknown reason, she was never sent to them. Probably because she was only in Wales for such a short while.”

It made sense, at the time, that mémé knew about these children, and never joined them. It made sense that she had this strange ability to bend her own body to her will, that she could string up these stories and get me - a twenty year old, naive woman - to believe her.

After she died and I read her records, I realised that they had noticed some… abnormality that could be passed as double-jointedness, but… that’s not what they had written. Instead of what you would probably write, they only gave one response to her defect.

‘???’

It got me thinking.

If mémé could bend, if maman told me these stories and… ‘abilities’ were really true and people really did float and create fire and bring people back to life, then I had no reason to discount the idea that I might have an ability too.

So I put myself to the test.

A month in trying to figure out my undoubtedly lame ability, I’d burned, broken, sliced and scratched my hands and fingers. Now, looking down at the offending things lying in my lap, I’m reminded of the ridiculous effort and pain I went through just to see if I could do something cool - something no one else could.

I gave it up as a bad job sometime later, until maman reminded me of a time back when I was small, too small for me to remember without some brain prodding.

“Oh darling, why didn’t you ask me if you had a peculiarity? Of course you do! It normally skips generations, and you might not remember and will probably have a hard time doing it now but when you were a baby, you’d conjure up the strangest little illusions.

“As a three year old you were running around the house, chasing a baby elephant that your mind -  _ your mind  _ had created! It was spectacular. You stopped at around four and… well… never did it again.”

Perplexed only for a moment, my mother’s words suddenly brought back a flood of heavy memories that had my head swimming. Grasping my hair, I could remember being so young and creating such… illusions, was the only way I could describe it.

And I’d realised that I’d been doing it all my life all along.

Imaginary friends, pets, different coloured shoes that would make my classmates ponder, make my teacher send me home only for me to walk through my front door and they went back from pink to normal black. As if unlocking a major upgrade for a character in a video game, the ability came back to me.

It started slow, piece by piece as I got used to this new power, and I’d trick my mother into thinking there was a burglar in the house in the middle of the day, that a wasps nest was in the kitchen, that a mouse as big as a size ten shoe was eating all our cat food.

Small tricks grew to full blown illusions.

I could make my outfit appear immaculate all day when I was really only wearing pyjamas - though no one would ever know. I would change my hair colour to red one day, have it as short as a boy’s the other, have it all gone the next. And then there would be the times of loneliness, where the ache in my heart became too much to bear and I’d fall asleep with the illusion of a body, warm against my back, cradling me to sleep.

Even now, as I sit here on the boat, I’m making my nails turn different colours and different lengths to suit my mood. Which is miserable and tired.

Without proper rest, I found that my talent was… limited, to put it simply.

I couldn’t change up my appearance too much without collapsing, and even changing my nails was making me break out in a sweat. 

Anyway, I’ll have my own house to go to when I arrive at the island and I can nap as soon as I walk in the door.

The house is situated near the end of the village, just before a swamp. At first I was reluctant but then I thought - if I was going to be spending most of my time exploring and finding out about the peculiars then it wouldn’t even matter where my house was situated. It was only temporary, anyway. 

Maman was paying for a year in Cairnholm. If I decide to stay - which is  _ highly  _ doubtful given the horror that is the weather - then I’ll have to find a job and keep my own house. Luckily, the cost of living is tremendously low on Cairnholm. I’m not surprised, given it’s only populated by some five-hundred or so people.

I look up at the sound of a bird, and realise it’s a peregrine falcon. She’s following the boat, and I take a moment to marvel at her beautiful, blue-tinted feathers.

“Bonjour,” I wave up at the bird, and she flies off to God knows where.

A few minutes later, we arrived at the dock. I gather my things, pay the ferryman and leave the boat.

  
This was already going to be the worst thing  _ ever. _


	2. Chapter 2 - Soggy Chips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine goes exploring

I’d gotten to the new house and collapsed immediately on the bed, falling asleep just as quick. 

My alarm for my pills goes off a few hours later, and it’s five o’clock. Starving, I make my way to my overloaded suitcase and pull out some fresh clothes that smell wonderful compared to the stale sheets. I’ll have to change them later. 

Cursing because I can, I gather my things after changing to lighter clothes and leave for the pub.

The walk is nice. Music fills my ears as I trudge through muddied puddles and bob my head along to some terrible English rap with far too many swear words, some I can’t even  _ pronounce _ with my thick, French accent. Reaching the ‘Priest Hole’ is a five minute walk and I’m relieved that I don’t have to walk that far - mostly because I’m lazy.

People stare - probably at the brightness of my raincoat which probably stands out a  _ lot  _ compared to their bland clothing.

I’ve never really minded staring, and I’ve made myself extra radiant today so the looks couldn’t  _ possibly  _ be judging.

I don’t like to change my appearance too much, as that’s cheating and I don’t do that. However, I do like to make my cheeks glow just that bit more, take away some freckles, lessen my dimples, brighten my forever tired eyes and remove bags.

See? Not too bad. This is how I would look, if I took better care of myself, that is.

There are a handful of people at the Priest Hole already, including old men playing pool and watching the game on the tiny TV elevated on the wall. 

I’m emotionally exhausted, so I don’t even try to make my accent less French to their ears, and it seems to confuse them.

The man at the counter raises an eyebrow at my request, so I sigh and try again, slower.

“Do you have a phone?” I raise my hand to my ear in a telephone-like gesture and even make a “ring-ring!” sound. The man seems to understand then, and introduces himself with a handshake.

“Name’s Kev. I’m the manager. Phone’s over there, lovely,” I thank him and walk away to the old-fashioned telephone, dialing my mother’s number like it’s second nature.

It rings for a bit, but when she picks up she’s groggy.

“Were you sleeping?” I ask in French, and she replies with a yes. “It’s not even seven over there, how are you sleeping.”

Maman had been sick for quite some time. Always tired, always unable to get out of bed regularly and do her regular chores. I felt bad for leaving her at first but she almost seemed desperate for me to go.

“Sorry, darling. Your uncle passed through today. Left some jewellery he found from your grandmother that he’d lost around the house. Typical Jéry. Anyway, gotta fly, I’ve got Claire coming over in an hour and I need to clean. Call me when tomorrow when you’re settled. Love you, darling, stay safe!”

“Bye, mama-” she’d hung up before I had the chance to finish my reply. 

Sighing, I place the phone back on the ancient receiver and step away with a scowl.

“Petite gast,” I mutter and leave the pub to go back to my house. It’s chillier now, and threatening to rain again. “Merde,” I curse as I leg it back to the house and nearly crash into a girl with ginger hair. “Désolée, uh… I mean sorry. I was not look where I was going.” She seems startled, and then smiles.

“Welcome to Cairnholm,” she says, and then gives a curt nod and walks away.

I stand frozen for a minute. Absolutely and thoroughly perplexed by what I had just seen, and when I turned around, she was entirely gone. 

A little puzzled, I begin the trek back up to my house, which is close by now. I try not to think of those uncomfortable looking gloves on the girl’s hands. 

~~~

Dinner comes around and I go back to the pub to eat. It takes a while to order, because Kev has no idea what I’m trying to say, but he eventually understands the art of “pointing and hoping for the best”, nods and leaves.

Honestly, I have no idea what I just ordered.

It turns out that I just ordered some chips, which is apparently what they’re called here.

“Thank you,” I say as he leaves and he smiles kindly, taking his place back behind the bar. It’s so strange. No one is here but me and it’s a little… awkward.

I pick at my food and realise that these chips are so drenched in vinegar that I couldn’t possibly eat them without cringing so I give up and create an illusion that makes it look like the plate is empty.

It’s risky, considering that the minute it’s out of my proximity it’ll go back to normal, but I’m already out of the building by the time Kev turns his back. Plugging in my earphones, I decide to visit the home a little early. There’s nothing to do at the house but sit around looking for channels that I don’t understand so I might as well leave now while it’s still bright. I make a quick stop to grab an umbrella, my camera and my raincoat, then make the last minute decision of bringing a walking stick I find at the front door. Something tells me I’ll need it.

I leave the house once more and bump into some teenage boys. My beauty illusion must be working, because I’m pretty sure one sidles up to my side and tries to flirt in his obnoxiously Welsh accent. I brush him off but the boys follow so I spin around and ask what they want.

“She’s not from ‘ere, boys. Where you goin’ anyway?” One of them asks and I roll my eyes, but then I realise I could use this to my advantage. 

“I’m look for children’s home. Where is it?” I blink my eyes prettily and one of them starts smacking the other boy on the back and soon I’m being guided up a hill, further away from the town.

We stop opposite a wooded area and a boy leads me down there and helps me across the bog.

“Thank you so much. So kind, take care!” I say and smile as they leave. “Garçons stupides.”

Making my way through the trees, I look up at the watery skyline and am suddenly glad for my umbrella. To the left is the remains of a roof and as I continue my trek I come across a mossy pond and the ruins of the children’s home.

“Time for picture!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed :))


	3. Chapter 3 - Bouncy Brown Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josie goes exploring... again. But this time, she finds something worth following...

The wind whips at my hair as I take shelter from the oncoming rain in the house. There’s not much protecting me - the bomb having obliterated most of the roof and the weather and years going by having worsened the state of the poor house. This house did  _ not _ age well.

“Wow! So cool!” I exclaim as I drop my umbrella and cane and turn on the camera hanging around my neck. Bringing it up to my face, I take a picture of the decaying walls and the staircase. I must be at the front of the house. A few more pictures later and a chirp to my left startles me out of my photo spree.

Glancing over, I see what I assume is the same peregrine as before. Beautiful. Wide-eyed, I come closer, cautious that she might fly away at any given moment, but she remains calmly, eerily still, like she might pounce at one wrong move.

“Hello, beautiful. Mind if I take picture?” The bird doesn’t move, but she does tilt her head up proudly, as if posing. “Amazing.” I murmur as I snap a picture. Looking at the photo, I’m amazed at how well it turned out. Who ever gets this close to birds? 

I look up and realise she’s watching me again.

“Well… I’m going to take more picture. Then I’m going home. Have fun here, birdie,” I make a few tweeting noises, and then I slap myself on the head and walk away with my cane and umbrella. She watches me leave. “Wow, wow, so much history! So much bricks! And…” I trace the long, ever-growing vine along the wall up the staircase. “Spaghetti leaf.”

Upstairs is a clock with the date ‘September third, nineteen forty-three’. Interesting. I take a picture. 

Wanting to explore the many rooms, I make my way down the hallway but a foreign creaking stops me in my tracks.

“Hello? Birdie? Is it you?” I look down the stairs and realise she’s long flown away. Feeling anxious, the sky growing darker with each passing minute, I trundle back down the stairs and leave the house. As soon as I leave I feel no better, all I  _ can  _ feel are eyes burning into my back.

I don’t turn around, simply continue walking and make it back into the forest.

I cross over the bog and nearly fall over a few times before climbing up the grassy hill and onto the concrete. It begins to rain, finally, so I pull up my umbrella. I follow the path back to my house and clamber inside just as the rain becomes too heavy to shield myself and dump the wet thing in the basket by the door.

I’m wet and tired and cold. Trudging upstairs, I take off my boots in my room and gather some pyjamas to take to the bathroom. I consider taking a shower but the water won’t come so I try the bath instead and that works.

The water grows hot and I peel off my wet clothes, remove my facial illusion and stare into the mirror at my dull reflection.

The bags are somehow more purple today, and my eyes are red rimmed from exhaustion. My skin is pale and my eyebrows are too thick. I’ll find some tweezers tomorrow, if I remember.

Climbing into the bath, it’s too hot which is perfect and I lay back and fall asleep.

~~~ 

By the time I wake up, it’s gone three in the morning and the water is corpse cold.

I climb out with a cringe and a shiver, pulling out the plug as I go. I dry off with a stale towel and clamber into my pyjamas before escaping to my room for the rest of the night. The minute my head hits the pillow and I’m under the covers, I’m gone.

The next morning I wake up sometime around nine and immediately get out of bed. There’s no point laying around doing nothing when there’s so much to do! Plus, I need to call maman as soon as possible. I feel refreshed today, although there’s something about my nose that’s telling me I shouldn’t have fallen asleep in that bath.

The combination of a runny and stuffy nose, rosy cheeks and tired eyes can only mean one thing. A cold. It’s only a slight one, and I’m sure I can make some honey tea later and take some cold and flu tablets which are stuffed somewhere in my overnight bag. Sniffing, I brush my teeth in the upstairs sink as the downstairs one doesn’t work yet, and check my appearance more thoroughly. I put on my usual beauty illusion and fix my hair, deciding not to mess with it too much today.

“Today, here I come!” I exclaim as I open the door.

It’s pouring with heavy rain. With a sigh, I berate myself for not noticing through the many windows of the house and blame it on my vanity. I tend to get distracted with looks if I’m feeling especially under-confident.

A boy cycles past, his clothes absolutely drenched and I shake my head as I close and lock the door behind me. Honestly, these people don’t have any sense. I pull up my umbrella and shield my hair from the rain as I make my way down to the Priest Hole. Today is shopping day. I need to find some food to keep in my house or I’ll have to live on soggy chips, which is  _ not  _ ideal. I could always ask for less vinegar, but I’m not quite sure how to phrase such a request in English. I’ll have to look it up when I receive data.

The Priest Hole is bustling with middle-aged men who turn to look at me as I walk in. Instead of asking Kev for the phone, I immediately go to it and dial my mother’s number again.

“Hi, maman. How are you feeling today?” The sound on the other end of the phone can only be described as moving dishes, so maman must be sorting them out or washing them by hand.

“Hello, my darling! Sorry I wasn’t so talkative yesterday, I was really quite tired and I still had a lot of things to-“

“Maman, sh, it’s OK, I’m not angry. Listen, the next time I call it’ll be my own number, OK? I can’t keep using this phone because there are old men staring at me funny. Clearly the people here don’t understand that French is another language,” maman gives a hearty laugh and I’m sure she’s doing the little disbelieving head shake she does.

“OK, darling. What are your plans for today?” I tell her of my plans and what I did yesterday, and we speak for a while longer until someone else clearly needs to use the phone. I apologise brokenly and then to my mother. “It’s alright. You go, you’re probably busy, huh? Off you go, we’ll talk sometime later this week. Don’t rush, I’ll wait patiently.” We say our goodbyes and ‘I love you’s and I hang up, handing the phone to the other man who smiles warmly at me. 

“Missing home?” He asks in his thick Welsh accent.

“You have no idea.”

~~~

Afternoon quickly comes around and to my utter dismay, it’s still raining. I desperately want to explore, and nothing’s stopping me now that my washing machine is up and working thanks to the man who came over to set it up.

Tired, I rub at my eyes and grip my hair. I need to wake up somehow. Walking always does the trick, and I’ll take any excuse to go outside and explore. If my clothes get dirty, so what? I have more. And a washing machine. Ignoring the post-it note I left on the empty fridge reading “BUY FOOD!!!” in angry letters, I grab my umbrella and leave the house. The air is so much fresher here than… well, anywhere in France. It’s like there’s no pollution whatsoever! I’ve only seen a handful of cars and I’m actually starting to like how… simple this place is.

With no real destination in mind, I fix the camera around my neck and get walking. I decide to pass the children’s home and just keep walking to see what I find.

It’s nothing but grass and dirt road and then fields with no animals and… a cave. No, a cairn. There’s no one around, but the cairn looks so interesting - it’s obviously been decorated for the purpose of finding it again and telling it apart from any other normal cave. Getting down on one knee, I take a picture of the cairn, then another. Examining them, I smile at how cool they look.

Well, what idiot wouldn’t walk in there and see if there’s anything cool?

Standing up, I brush off my wet knees and make my way to the entrance where I close the umbrella and leave it propped against the side of the cairn. Looking around once more in case someone might assume I’m up to no good, I quickly clamber inside and giggle as I go further into the darkness. Making a light illusion in my palms, I look around the cave as I crab-walk deeper and deeper until there’s a hard  _ pop _ in my ears.

“Owie!” I shout, and the sound echoes. OK, this is creepy now. I take one last picture of some ancient markings on the right wall of the cave and make my way out.

Letting the light illusion dissipate, I come out the other side and stretch. Man, that hole was tight. A ticking sound rings in my ears and I assume it’s because I was cramped up in that cave and now I’m hearing things, like when you’re trying to sleep and your ears start to ring. Shaking my head, I reach down for my umbrella, only to realise it’s gone.

“Who… who steal my umbrella?” I ask, mostly to myself, and I look around the cairn, wondering if some annoying child has hidden it somewhere but I can’t find it. Oh well, I have an extra somewhere at home. I don’t even need it anyway, because the sun is beating down on me through the white no-longer-grey clouds. The sky is a magnificent blue and I can feel myself sweating in my raincoat. I curse in French and remove the thing and tie it around my waist, revealing the pink T-shirt underneath. Sighing, I take one last look around for that stupid umbrella, but it really is gone.

Cursing again, I wave my arms around and begin the walk home. I’m still a bit puzzled over how warm it is all of a sudden. And I was only in that cave for two or so minutes, who even had the time to steal my umbrella? How did the rain stop so quickly? Surely it would still be showering, if not lightly. Shrugging it off as being overtired, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve overreacted over a weather change. I walk past the bog to the woodland area and hear noise. Children.

Usually this area was rather quiet, but today I can distinctly hear the voices of children playing and shouting, the sound of a ball being kicked… strange. Too curious and nosy for my own good, I ignore the headache forming, no doubt from the cold, and traipse my way through the bog over to the trees. My boots become heavily muddied, which I do my best to clean in the grass but it doesn’t really do much. Sighing, I listen out again as I walk and I’m not going crazy - there really  _ are _ children! I can hear it clearer now and as I peek my head out of the last of the trees, I spot them. I wasn’t wrong after all. There are boys playing football, two girls on a picnic blanket playing tea party, a woman floating, a boy reading a book by a topiary- wait.

I look back over at the floating woman and realise that she is indeed floating, just like the girl mémé had told me about.

I try not to freak out, but I do start hyperventilating. Among my panic and awe, a little girl with bouncy brown hair runs to say hello.

“Hello! Are you lost?” She asks sweetly, and she looks so lovely and welcoming so I nod a bit and she takes my hand. “Come this way. The headmistress has been waiting for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi :))


	4. Chapter 4 - The Headmistress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josie meets the headmistress, and the children who inhabit the home with their strange little abilities that aren’t so different from her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the people who commented, you really gave me confidence! Hope you enjoy!!

The young girl drags me along through the area where the two boys are kicking around a football. They stop and stare, and I can’t help but stare too.

One of them is entirely invisible save for his clothes and another has bees circulating his head and clinging to his cheeks. I decide not to question it, but my paleness must be obvious as the girl hurries to get me to the door.

The minute we arrive on the front porch, about to knock, a woman opens it, an old-timey pocket watch positioned between her fingers. She stares down at the little girl.

“Right on time. You must be Josephine Arquette. Wonderful to finally meet you, I’m Miss Peregrine,” she pockets her watch and thrusts her hand out for me to shake. I stare at it rather blankly for a moment, and when I look up at her face and take in her sharp features, I blanch further.

This woman is  _ exactly  _ my type. Radiating confidence and natural beauty, dark hair, tall, with a beautiful smile. This woman is  _ breathtaking. _

There’s not really much else to do but faint.

~~~

“Is she dead?”

“No, she’s not dead, stupid, she fainted.”

“Give her space! Millard, put some clothes on!”

I blink an eye open and take in my surroundings. The children gasp and back away as I manage to sit up. I begin asking questions but realise that I’m talking in French and they must not understand me.

“Sorry. Where am I?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.

“You’re at the home for peculiar children,” a girl answers, and when I look at her, it’s the girl that was floating. I feel nauseous.

“No, no, no… you cannot be real, I-... mémé say you…” I can’t quite find the right word, but it doesn’t matter as they seem to understand anyway.

Heels click into the room.

“Children! What did I tell you about disturbing our guest? Emma, Olive, you stay. Enoch, take the rest and keep them outside. Someone grunts and ushers the rest of the children out of the room, and I hear the sound of doors closing. “Well. Look at you, you’re awake! How wonderful. Olive, please fetch Miss Arquette a glass of ice water.” I look to the girl the headmistress is talking to and notice her familiarity.

“Wait. I know you,” I manage. My head is pounding. I realise that I must have hit it quite hard when I fainted.

“Yes. We met yesterday. Welcome to Cairnholm,” she says, and leaves the room. It floods back to me. Of course, it was the pretty ginger girl from yesterday with the freaky gloves!

“This place… so strange,” I massage my temples. 

“Once you’re feeling better, I’ll give you a tour. Perhaps you would like something to eat? I notice you haven’t eaten anything,” my stomach feels far too nauseated to even stomach the  _ thought  _ of eating right now.

“Nooo…” the headmistress gives a short, sharp laugh that hurts my head but makes my heart beat faster.

“That was quite an interesting spell you put on yourself. What was that? Reconstruction of some sort?” I shake my head slowly.

“No. Illusion,” she hums, and seems genuinely interested but she can probably tell I’m far too disoriented to talk about it. I’m vaguely aware that I no longer have the spell on my face and I subconsciously try to hide.

“Don’t hide that pretty face. Besides, Olive is back with your water,” Olive returns right on time and hands me a glass of water that I thank her for and gladly down in seconds. The only thing going through my hazy mind right now is that such a gorgeous woman called  _ me  _ pretty. I flush a little despite myself and crunch on the ice to dispel the thoughts. Miss Peregrine gently presses the back of her hand to my forehead and checks for a temperature. “Hm. You’re a little warm, but perhaps that’s just the cold.”

“How did you know I have a cold?” The headmistress doesn’t spare me another glance, simply stands and picks up her armchair with ease, dropping it off somewhere in the corner.

“Well, I know everything, of course,” I don’t even bother trying to question it, and Emma, whom I hadn’t really noticed was even there, extends her hands to help me up. I refuse her help politely and stand myself, brushing off invisible dust and applying the illusion back to my face with the little energy I have left. “How fascinating,” Miss Peregrine says, and again, I can’t help but blush a little, but the illusion keeps the sight at bay. “This way. I’ll show you around. Emma, I trust that you’ll begin sorting out our dinner?” Emma nods and stomps out of the room - not angrily, per se, but her boots certainly seem heavy to pick up. I suppose she has to wear them lest she float away.

Miss Peregrine takes my arm in hers and leads me to the door slowly.

“You don’t need… I can walk fast,” I assure her, and she smiles and gives one, curt nod before practically dragging me along at her pace. I huff a little, shocked at her speed and she smirks down at me.

“Beginning to regret you said that?” I can’t stop the blush this time. Miss Peregrine leads me outside where the children have resumed playing. The little brunette from earlier bounds over and introduces herself. “This is Bronwyn,” she says with a soft kind of finality, and I take a moment to admire the deep tones of her voice.

“Salut, Bronwyn,” I try to pronounce her name like it should be pronounced, but it comes out all garbled and French. Bronwyn just laughs and wraps her arms around my legs, effectively locking them shut as she spins me around in a circle. “Wow.” Is all I can say, as two more children come to greet us at the end of the porch. (My head is spinning) They’re both wearing ragged clothing and masks that obscure most, if not all of their features and body.

“The twins,” says Miss Peregrine, giving them both a gentle pat on the head each. They trundle off someplace else. “This is Fiona, who is running late and should meet Emma at the garden,” she announces rather sternly as Fiona stops briefly to shake my hand and runs off to find Emma, supposedly. “Claire.” All the life in the garden perks me up a little as a small girl shyly waves at me, her sweet ringlets bouncing along with her.

“Hello, darling,” I greet her gently, and she smiles.

“What can you do?” She curiously asks, and Miss Peregrine tightens her hold on my arm.

“Now, Claire, we mustn't be rude,” I ignore her and create an illusion that makes her pretty pink dress turn blue, then green, and then rainbow. She gasps in awe, spinning in a circle as she runs off. “She liked that, I think.” Miss Peregrine delicately murmurs by my ear and I smile, albeit shyly.

“It will disappear soon. If she is not close, it goes away,” Miss Peregrine understands and nods. She pulls me along to the invisible boy and the bee boy.

“Millard. Hugh,” she states matter-of-factly as we walk past them, narrowly avoiding the ball. “This is Horace.” Horace stands and comes over to shake my hand. He gives a curt little nod and brushes off his suit.

“Bonjour,” he says, and there must have been a sparkle in my eyes, either that, or I’d unintentionally made stars burst out of my head again. A little ringing sound effect comes with it each time, and Miss Peregrine gives a sweet hum of a laugh. Horace smiles in fascination.

“Do you speak French?” I ask him in my native tongue, and he gives a little awkward half and half motion with his free hand, the other holding a book tucked under his arm.

“Un peu,” he says, flushing a little, as if embarrassed at his admission.

“D’accord,” I say, nodding once at him, a final motion. He nods back, salutes, and leaves. 

“Looks like you made a friend already,” Miss Peregrine smiles down at me, and I squint as I look up at her, the sun so bright it burns my eyes.

“Translator! Yay!” She gives a hearty laugh and pulls me along again, like a worm on a string. We make it back to the porch and she guides me to the kitchen, letting go of my arm instead to replace that touch at the bottom of my spine. I shiver a little at the warmth that comes with her hand. In the kitchen, Olive is boiling tea with her bare hands. “Does it uh…” unable to find the right word, I mimic stabbing myself and shouting “ow!” Olive laughs at my display, and I like it so I laugh too and blood begins pouring out of my stomach onto the tiled floor. “Oh no, I am bleed.” Olive, a little shocked, realises that it’s only an illusion and laughs, albeit a bit awkwardly. What had I done wrong? Did blood make her uncomfortable? Am I overcompensating? Before I can ask, I stop the illusion as Miss Peregrine pulls out a chair and gently pushes me down.

“It’s ‘bleeding’, dear,” it takes a minute for it to settle in my head until I finally understand what she said, and I hum an ‘oh’ before tea is set in front of me.

“Could you do an illusion on me?” Olive asks, and it’s impossible to say no to that cute face. I tap my chin, and reach into my pocket. Tugging and pulling and making all the right sound effects, I pull out a  _ huge  _ bouquet of flowers of all kinds and hand it over with a bow to Olive, who’s cheering and clapping with glee. Miss Peregrine is smiling beside me.

With a subtle wave of my hand behind my back, the flowers begin to wilt away, the petals dissolving as they hit the ground. Olive seems disappointed, and I don’t like her sad face so I conjure a pink rose and tuck it behind her ear. She smiles and blushes a little so I back away and take my seat once more.

“Would you stay for supper?” Miss Peregrine asks once Olive has left the room. I shrug and try to explain myself but I can’t seem to find the right words. “You can talk to me in French, if you’d like. I’ll understand.” I light up, and she smiles.

“I would love to stay! However I’m not sure how to express myself to all of your children. You see, my grandmother told me all about you before she died. Her little ability was she could bend herself every which way. I later found out that I could create all sorts of illusions and now that I’m twenty-five, I came to the island my grandmother talked so fondly of and assuming you were dead, I didn’t try to look for you. 

“I think it’s worth you knowing that I am truly fascinated by this place, though I have no idea how I got here. And I also think that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life,” though that last part wasn’t entirely necessary, it slipped out as I gazed at her face as I spoke, those hard lines softening, her lips quirking up to smile. That smile... and I think I see a hint of a blush on her pale cheeks. When she replies, she replies in French.

“Horace and I will help to translate at the table. And I’ll ask my children to be wary of your difficulty speaking English,” I smile, and I’m so genuinely happy that stars and hearts burst around my head. She gives a little applause, and my heart soars.

~~~

‘Supper’ is at five-thirty. Which is strange to me, because I always ate at seven or eight at home, but things are  _ so much _ different here. The schedules are so… ornately put in place. No one  _ dares _ break a rule and from what I’ve seen, everyone keeps to the time schedule to their best abilities. I catch Emma, who drags me upstairs to her room to fit me into one of her dresses. I apparently have to dress appropriately for dinner which is something I can actually relate to. Dinner time at home was strictly at the table, even if there were no guests, and you always had to look nice.

“Why do you eat now?” I ask. Emma rummages through her closet, pulling out a lovely, long pink dress that would undoubtedly reach my ankles.

“I think this will fit. We eat at five so there’s time for movies and Reset,” she states, like it’s obvious, and perhaps it is. I question her no longer as she hands me the dress and waits for me to change outside her room. Once dressed, I politely fold my clothes and leave them on her bed. I knock on the door and she comes back in and gushes over how apparently beautiful I look. She drags me to her full length mirror and shows me, begins fussing with my short-ish hair. “Could you do something with this?” I don’t understand what she means by that so she elaborates by fluffing her own hair and saying, “a flower or something?”

“Oh! Yes,” I conjure a matching pink flower between my fingers and lace it through my hair which makes Emma squeal with delight.

“That’s amazing! Could you do something for me?” She points at her own hair, so I walk behind her and pull her hair into a lovely French plait, decorated with tiny flowers. I guide her to the mirror and conjure a mirror of my own, showing her how she looks. She gasps, utterly entranced and gives me a hug. “It’s fantastic. You have such a gift! Now let’s get to dinner.” She takes me by the hand and guides me downstairs to the dining room, where plates are being set and some children are already seated. 

“Sit by me, Josephine!” Claire shouts, so I move to go sit beside her, but then Horace shouts,

“No, come sit by me, Josephine,” So I stop in my tracks and look between the two.

“Stop confusing our poor guest. Miss Arquette, come sit here,” and with a demand like that from such a gorgeous woman, I couldn’t possibly refuse her. I move to sit next to her where she sits at the head of the table. “Now, children. Dig in and enjoy.” Immediately, the children begin eating and chatting, and then asking me questions. With a mouth full of food, I swallow quickly and answer as best as I can.

“If you could make yourself wings, could you fly?” Millard asks.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. But I could make it look like I am, through your eyes, I mean,” I answer, and Horace politely translates.

“Your accent and language is beautiful! What part of France are you from?” Olive asks, and Horace gives a brief translation for me. I can’t help but blush a little at the compliment on my accent. I conjure up a map of France above my head and the children stare. I point at Strasbourg and say,

“I’m from here, Strasbourg. It’s a beautiful city, and the Christmas markets are amazing. The culture is rich and the food is delicious. My mother is a chef, and she taught me how to cook,” the table collectively ooh’s and ahh’s as Horace translates and I smile as I flick away the illusion.

“What can you cook?” Fiona asks, gesturing with her hands.

“Lots. Steaks, soufflés, cakes of all sorts but my favourite is red velvet. Such an amazing flavour and not to brag? I make an  _ amazing  _ red velvet.”

“What kind of food do you have there nowadays?” Miss Peregrine clears her throat in warning, but I ignore her and answer Bronwyn’s question.

“Many, like cinnamon rolls and if they’re being particularly naughty, we eat children, too,” the children erupt in laughter, and even Miss Peregrine chuckles. 

“Can cars fly?” Hugh asks, as a few bees buzz out of his peculiar little net.

“No. But air travel is the way to go. Shame. I’m terrified of heights,” the children stop asking questions for a while, until the silence is broken by Miss Peregrine.

“How long will you be staying in Cairnholm, Josephine?” The way she says my name is alluring, and after a few awkward seconds of staring at her face, I clear my throat and finally manage to reply.

“Maman is paying for a year. The rest… is up to me. But I’ll have to pay. It’s a shame, my house is so bland and cold. Maybe I’ll go home early,” I frown at the sad faces around the table.

“Don’t go! We like you!” Claire exclaims, to which Miss Peregrine lets out a warning growl of her name. I won’t admit how her stern voice makes me feel.

“You should stay here with us!” Olive says, and the grouchy boy at the head of table speaks up for the first time.

“What makes you think she’ll stay? She can live her life out there, with no consequences,” a glance at Miss Peregrine shows she’s glaring at him, though she’s trying to hide it. It’s hot.

“Now, Enoch, let’s not upset our guest.”

“Oh, it’s OK. I couldn’t understand what he said anyway,” Horace translates easily and everyone at the table giggles at the scowl it brings to Enoch’s face.

“It’s a lot to think about. We must give our guest some time to adjust. Surely it’s difficult finding out that something that wasn’t there before actually is, but in another timeline,” Emma says as she clears the rest of her plate. Again, I have no idea what she’d said, so I turn to Miss Peregrine for help. She leans over and murmurs what Emma said into my ear. When she pulls away, she looks me up and down for the first time and settles on the flower in my hair. I pull back and flush a little, blushing under the attention. A brief sweep of my hand across my face and it’s gone, replaced by the normal colour of my skin.

The rest of dinner goes by smoothly, and I clear my plate too and bring it to the sink to be washed. Awkward, I follow the rest of the children to another room, dark and with little space. A chair stands directly opposite a blank wall and Horace takes a seat there. Emma grabs my wrist and pulls me down next to her on the couch.

“Quiet down, now,” the headmistress commands and the children grow quiet as they take their seats on couches and on the ground. Emma leans over to explain that this is movie night. Horace’s dreams are prophetic, and I vaguely understand what she means as whatever light there was dims and Horace’s movie begins playing.

“He mostly dreams about clothes,” Emma says. And she’s right. The dream we’re watching is literally just Horace picking and choosing various suits.

“I like that one,” I point at the orange one I can see, and Emma snorts. I smile too. 

The next vision is of me traipsing through the woods with my bright raincoat and camera, catching sight of the peregrine. I vaguely recognise the ruins of the children’s home, and I approach the bird.

“Hello, beautiful. Mind if I take picture?” I say in the dream, and just like in real life, the bird tilts her head up to pose and I snap the picture. “Amazing.” 

The children are laughing at me like they know something I don’t, and I can hear my voice calling out in the vision,

“Wow, wow, so much history! So much bricks! And…” dream-me reaches out to touch the vines on the walls, and says, “spaghetti leaf.” Again, the children erupt into joyous laughter.

“OK, OK, do not make fun! I know they are vines,” I pout, and even Miss Peregrine cracks a grin. The next vision fades to me in my house, packing a bag and humming some French tune, dancing around the bathroom looking for my toothbrush and toothpaste. Good Lord, this is embarrassing. I can’t help but hide my face in my hands as the children remark on my singing. That vision only lasts for so long before there’s another, and it’s two women dancing. I can’t make out who they are, but I do recognise the old-timey song playing in the background and the hair of the taller lady. Unmistakably, that is none other than Miss Peregrine herself. The children collectively ‘ooh’.

“Miss Peregrine can  _ dance… _ ” Hugh teases and Fiona nudges him into silence.

The next and last vision is the strangest by far.

It’s of a boy arriving on the island with who appears to be his father, both obvious tourists. The boy looks around sixteen, and then the vision ends.

The room goes silent.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :))


	5. Chapter 5 - The Augusta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma shares some secrets with Josie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ty to the lovely people who commented!

“Miss Peregrine, who was that?” Someone asks, but I’m not sure who. The headmistress wavers only for a second before pulling out her pocket watch and exclaiming,

“Reset time! Everyone up,” almost as if this were the most exciting thing ever, everyone stands and begins cheering, dragging me up with them and pulling me along outside.

“Reset?” I ask, but I receive no reply. We end up outside on the grass, where Miss Peregrine quickly follows and drops a gramophone on the ground beside her. Turning to face us, she hands us all gas masks, and as she hands me mine, she very quickly gives me a once-over and says,

“That dress is lovely on you,” in French. I blush, unable to hide it, and she smiles. I take the mask and stare at it. 

“Emma? What’s this for?” Emma smiles and gestures for me to look at the headmistress, which isn’t hard given how beautiful she is. Miss Peregrine watches her pocket watch and gives us one, final nod. At that exact moment, everyone puts on their masks, including her. I follow suit, scrambling to get the uncomfortable thing over my head.

“Ready?” Emma asks me, and I nod, unsure of what’s going on and frankly irritated that no one is telling me anything. Miss Peregrine reaches over and puts the needle on the vinyl, letting it play. It’s ‘Run, Rabbit, Run’ from way back in World War 2. I’m desperate to latch onto something, as I tend to do when I’m scared, so I grab Emma’s arm and hold on tight. She giggles and surprisingly doesn’t pull away. I’m relieved.

The sound of airplanes overhead pulls me out of my thoughts and they look ancient - like planes from World War 2. Perhaps they are, and maybe I really am back in 1943, and one of those planes will drop a bomb on the house and blow it to smithereens like it did on that day. I shake my head at my own ridiculous thoughts and watch the final plane fly over the home, and I can barely make out the hatch opening at the bottom of the plane and letting out a bomb.  _ The  _ bomb. I only just register that I’m squealing in fright and I’m holding onto poor Emma for dear life. This can’t be real, it  _ can’t _ be real, it makes no sense!

As it’s just about to hit the house, Miss Peregrine pulls out her watch and freezes the bomb in its steady motion towards the roof of the home. Not only has she frozen the bomb, but also the plane that dropped it, along with the other planes and the gently falling rain. The trees are no longer blowing, there is no other sound other than my heavy panting as we stand purely frozen in time. I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t so shocked. The headmistress begins turning back the clock, and suddenly everything starts going in reverse. Instead of falling, the bomb rises back into the hatch in the plane and they each reverse through the sky, one by one, out of sight. Night shifts to day back to night and the clock ticks all the way back to September second, nineteen forty-three.

Miss Peregrine pulls off her mask, so everyone else does the same. I stand there still for a moment before pulling off my own mask and handing it over to the headmistress. She smiles at my pale face, and a big exclamation mark of surprise pops over my head. Everyone laughs, and she grabs my arm and pulls me away. Someone else brings in the gramophone.

“Did you like it?” She asks, and I can hear the hope in her voice. She wants me to stay, I can feel it. But I can’t. Not yet. There are things I need to do first. I don’t reply, and she sends the children off to get ready for bed. She leads me to the kitchen where I regain my thoughts once more.

“What year am I in?” I ask in French. I think my brain is far too fried for English right now.

“Nineteen forty-three,” I nod slowly.

“Am I stuck in this time?” Miss Peregrine grins, tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, which is impossible considering my hair is immaculate due to my illusions. Perhaps she just wanted to touch me. Perhaps that’s just wishful thinking.

“No, darling. You got here through the cairn,” now, that makes a lot more sense. “You entered our loop through the cairn.” 

Miss Peregrine explains what a loop is and how they can’t leave, only for a short while before the years catch up and they all perish or grow old. She talks in gentle French, slowly and as she’s finished, she steps away to examine the way I look again.

“You really do look beautiful in that dress,” is the last thing she says before Emma walks back into the kitchen and pulls me along to her room so I can change back into my own clothes. The spell I cast on her hair has long since faded, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

“I think Miss Peregrine liked you in this dress. I think Miss Peregrine likes  _ you. _ ”

~~~

Emma takes me to the cairn and walks me in. I feel that pop again, and I can feel now that I’m in realtime.

“Come again tomorrow? It’s so nice to have such a lovely new friend…” Emma says as she grasps my hands. I understand a few of her words and get the gist of what she’s saying, so I reply,

“Of course I come tomorrow. I’ll stay long. Night, maybe,” Emma’s eyes light up.

“You can stay with me in my room!” She’s so excited I couldn’t possibly deny her. The poor girl must be so lonely.

“Of course, Emma. See you tomorrow. Au revoir!” I say, and with that I leave the cairn.

On the outside, I notice that my umbrella is propped up against the wall of the cairn, just where I’d left it hours ago. Things begin making a lot more sense.

~~~

The next morning I wake up bright and early and search through my suitcase for nice clothes to pack in an overnight bag. I’m ecstatic, and after a good night’s rest my energy is fully restored and I’m able to procure some more complicated illusions. I really want to impress Miss Peregrine, make that pretty smile come out. Dancing around the bathroom, I hum ‘Elle Me Dit’ by Mika and grab my toothbrush and toothpaste. I wonder if Miss Peregrine will let me stay the night, considering she has so many other children to look after - I wouldn’t want to get in her way. After less than a day there, I could see how hard she worked to keep everyone happy and entertained. But I’m an adult, surely I can help out around the house? They already know I’m a magnificent cook, again, not to brag or anything. But I know my self-worth, let’s leave it at that.

I suppose it’s settled, then. Surely Emma has told Miss Peregrine that I plan on returning, so… with a determined look laced with finality, I spin my way to the bedroom and wiggle around with no shame, singing loudly along to the lyrics blasting through my ears at full volume. I know I’m killing my hearing, but it never stops me from enjoying music at a deafening volume.

After packing my bag, I realise that if I was staying for supper, I’d need a dress to change into. It didn’t have to be a dress, right? Remembering I have a flattering white blouse in my wardrobe somewhere that I packed for absolutely no reason other than the pipe dream of meeting someone and getting to dress up nice for them - not so much a pipe dream anymore, huh? I fold it up tightly to avoid creasing and pack it with some high-waisted black button up tight as  _ fuck  _ pants. If Miss Peregrine smiles at a dress and feels the need to compliment it, I wonder if she’ll approve of the clothing I’m planning on wearing. Maybe an illusion or two will draw the woman’s eyes to me even more this time around.

Smiling triumphantly, I pack my best dress shoes and sling the bag over my shoulder. I lock up behind me, carrying my umbrella under my arm in case I’d need it later. This island rains like nobody’s business, and at the most random intervals. I make it down to the Priest Hole and call my mother. She doesn't answer, so I try again. Nothing. Oh well, her loss.

I decided to just go straight to the cairn, might as well, nothing’s stopping me. I drag my feet, bopping along to music as I go. Once I’m alone, I break out into a happy dance. Is this what it feels like to be truly happy and excited? Just to see a pretty woman? I need to get over myself. Sighing, I prepare myself for being turned away by Miss Peregrine as I come across the cairn once more and don’t even think twice before climbing in, listening out for the ticking and the pop. Once popped, I leave the cairn and stretch into the sunshine. It must be around ten o’clock, and the sun isn’t so high, the air not so stiflingly warm. Tying up what hair I can fit into a bobble, I march straight to the house where the children are only just coming out to play. Claire spots me emerging from the bushes filled with exotic flowers and runs straight over to hug my legs. 

Today I’m prepared to use most of my energy translating whatever I say so that they understand me better. It doesn't make sense, and I won’t try and explain. It’s just how I do things - when I have enough energy, that is.

“Josephine! You’re back, you’re back! Miss Peregrine will be so happy!” I smile bashfully, picking up Claire and giving her a proper hug. 

“Oh, she will?” Claire does her best to nod through the tightness of our hug, and I let her down as she scampers off to go tell the others that I’ve arrived. Readjusting the bag on my shoulder, I walk to the house where I’m stopped by Hugh and Millard, ecstatic.

“You came back! Nice to see you!” They say, patting my arms and running off to play. Horace is already seated by the topiary, and spots me. He smiles and gives me a little wave, so I wave back and bump into Bronwyn.

“Sorry, darling. Hello,” I’ve barely finished my sentence before Bronwyn is picking me up and swinging me in circles. I can’t help but laugh.

“We missed you!”

“I was only gone for a little while. But I’m back now, and I’m hoping to stay the night if the headmistress lets me,” Bronwyn smiles like the answer to that is obvious.

“Of course she’ll let you stay, she likes you,” I smile and shrug it off as  _ just _ ‘like’ and not ‘interested in’.

“Of course she does, I’m fabulous,” I even do a little spin to prove it, cartoon diamonds bursting through my head and out of my extended hand. Bronwyn laughs joyfully and I say goodbye and make my way to the front door. It opened immediately and it startled me a little bit.

“Welcome back, darling, you’re earlier than I expected,” it’s her, in all her beautiful glory, tobacco pipe hanging loosely from her lips as she talks. “Come inside, you look famished! I’ll get you some breakfast.” She takes my wrist and gently drags me inside, shutting the door behind me.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that!” I say, and she stops in her tracks to spin around and face me with a warning glare,  _ daring  _ me to deny her. I can’t find the words to even apologise so she raises a brow and smirks at my lack of response, spinning back around to take me to the kitchen, though this time her hand is laced with mine. The scrape of her talon-like fingernails as she lets go once we’ve reached the kitchen makes me shiver. 

“Olive, could you please boil the kettle?” Olive nods quietly, but once she sees me, her face lights up. I smile warmly.

“Hi, Olive,” I greet her, and she comes over to give me a hug. She’s wonderfully warm to the touch. Miss Peregrine stares for a moment, then turns away to look at something else. I pull away and smile awkwardly.

“Sorry if that was a bit forward it’s just… Horace had a dream last night that you wouldn’t return and… well I was worried it would turn out to be true,” her voice sounds so sad, and I hate the sound. With a smile, I lace my fingers through a strand of her hair, leaving behind a chain of daisies that twist and curl around that strand of hair. She gasps and her eyes sparkle.

“That should last a while,” I say and she hugs me again. 

“Olive, I won’t ask again,” Miss Peregrine warns from the table, but she’s staring right at me. As I sit myself down, I slip off the strap of my backpack and drop it to the ground. I sense jealousy radiating off of the headmistress, who now won’t look at me. With a tiny smile, Olive apologises and turns around to fill and boil the kettle. While she’s not looking, I reach forward to touch Miss Peregrine’s hair. Like I’d imagined, it’s super soft to the touch and the colour is fascinatingly blue. She stares at me like she has no clue what I’m doing, and I grin.

“Stay still,” I say and do the same thing to Miss Peregrine’s hair. I hope my touch doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but she doesn’t seem to mind - actually leans into my fingers as I weave forget-me-nots into a strand of wispy raven hair.

Moving back and procuring a hand mirror, I show her how it looks. She smiles, and it’s radiant and charming.

“There you go, no need to be jealous,” I dare say, and her look changes to something dark. It makes butterflies erupt in my stomach, and a few to fly from my head through the ceiling. Olive turns back around and sees that Miss Peregrine now too has flowers.

Wiping the sweat off my brow, nervous or tired I have no idea but it’s probably the latter, Olive pours hot water into a mug for me and hands it over. I thank her softly in French and take a sip. In front of me are some cute little cakes, no doubt to satisfy the hunger gnawing at me after not eating breakfast. When I look back up, Miss Peregrine is casually sitting in her chair, facing away and looking at her pocket watch. This woman is obsessed with time, though I suppose it makes sense seeing as it’s her peculiarity. She catches me looking and gestures at the cakes.

“You’d better eat those before someone else runs in and eats them for you in precisely ten seconds,” I panic and eat as many as I can. Ten seconds passed and as it turns out, she was just teasing and I scowl at her. She merely chuckles, but about two minutes later, someone does come in, and it’s Emma.

“Josephine! You came back! I was so worried you wouldn’t, I was really looking forward to our sleepover. Horace had a dream-”

“That I wouldn’t come back, yeah, I know. It’s OK, I am here and full of cakes and magic spells,” as I say this, a witch hat appears on my head and dark magic oozes from my hands. It’s not real of course, but it takes Emma a second to realise that I’m just fooling around. She laughs and shyly twists her hair between her fingers.

“I saw what you did with Olive’s hair, and apparently Miss Peregrine’s too. I was wondering if you could do some for me?” I smile.

“You know, Fiona has  _ real  _ flowers?” I tease, and Emma blushes and crosses her arms rather petulantly.

“I am aware! But… I want  _ you _ to do it.”

“OK. Have a preference?” I ask as I circle her and choose a strand, already softening it out ready. 

“Well, I love what you did yesterday. But I’m afraid that roses are too big…” she trails off.

“No worry. I’ll just make them smaller,” I trace my fingertips through her hair, creating tiny little pink, red, yellow and white roses as I go. Once finished I back away with a spin and show her with my fake mirror.

“Wow! I look…. I look…”

“Fantastic? Amazing? Beautiful? You’re welcome.”

“Haha! Thank you, Josephine!” Emma hugs me and sways. I pat her back. I’m a little shorter than her with those boots on.

“Please, call me Josie,” she leans back and nods. 

“Claire would love this. I’ll go get her! Oh, and… I was wondering if you’d like to help me with my main chore later. Enoch usually does it, but I think you’d do  _ great _ ,” I scratch the back of my neck shyly, a habit when I’m nervous.

“Yeah, sure, why not,” she grins and clomps off to find Claire. The minute she leaves, I sag against the counter.

“Are you alright?” Miss Peregrine asks from her seat, beginning to rise. I wave a dismissive hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a little sapped,” she looks concerned and comes over to meet me, placing a tentative hand on my upper arm - almost as if she’s afraid to touch me.

“I can tell Claire that you’re not in the right place to do it, if you’d like,” she offers, and my stupid mind takes that as a challenge.

“No! I can do it,” she raises an eyebrow, but says nothing else. In fact, she leaves entirely as Claire runs into the kitchen, wringing her hands shyly. “Come here, darling. What flowers would you like?”

~~~

By the time it’s eleven o’clock, everyone has individually had their hair done. I’ve even decorated dresses and blazers and now? I’m exhausted. I lie on the lawn chair and try not to fall asleep as the children run around in their decorative clothes, Claire and Bronwyn dancing around together with the twins, who each have flower crowns of different colours adorning their little heads.

Emma comes around moments later to ask me to help her with her chore, and I terribly wish I could say no, but I had told her I would, never mind how tired I am. She helps me up and takes me to a tree at the end of the garden.

“This is my daily chore. Put the baby squirrel back in the tree. Enoch usually helps me but I told him you were helping out today, so thank you,” I shrug, finding words too exhausting right now. She hands over the rope around her shoulders and says, once again, “any second now…” after a moment, she puts her hand out, palm up, and a squirrel falls directly into it. Shocked, I stare right at Emma, who just smiles. “Tie the rope around my waist? It’s so I don’t float away.” I clear my throat and lean down to tie the rope around her waist as tight as I can manage without it being too uncomfortable.

“That OK?” I ask, and she nods.

“Are you sure you’re not too tired?” I shake my head. “OK, then. Please hold on tight, OK?”

“Promise,” Emma nods and leans down to unclip the straps of her boots. After one last look at me to make sure I’m holding the rope tight, she unbuckles the last two and floats out of her shoes up into the sky. Watching her is like watching an angel fly - so  _ fantastic _ . The higher she gets, the sicker I feel, I’m not too good with heights - even watching something  _ else  _ high up. She grabs onto a particular tree branch so I stop the steady thread of rope until I see her place the squirrel back in the tree. From there, she pushes herself away from the tree and signals me to pull her back down. She’s so light, it’s like I’m pulling on nothing but a balloon full of helium.

When she reaches the ground, she straps on her boots once more and unties the rope, letting it drop to the ground.

“Ta-da!” She exclaims, and I give her a little round of applause, hearts bursting all around us.

She leads me back to the house and sits me down on the lawn chair where I collapse against it, sighing out in pure exhaustion.

“Everything alright?” Miss Peregrine asks as I struggle to open my eyes and look at her. She’s smiling kindly.

“Yeah. Just… worn out,” she huffs and sits beside me with a book.

“I did warn you,” I sigh and roll my eyes, but can’t help but laugh.

“Yes, I suppose you did,” and before I even know it, I’ve fallen asleep.

I wake up around one, and everyone is filing inside to get lunch. Miss Peregrine is gone, but someone had tucked a pillow under my head while I was napping. I suspect it was her, but I don’t like to assume anything. False hope, and all. I walk inside behind everyone else and people are sitting at the table and others are bringing the food. I decide to help out and bring the rest of the plates out with me to place in front of the rest of the children. Again, the seat beside Miss Peregrine is the only one free, so I just take it. The nap had me feeling a lot better, and the food and sugar from the cakes helped spark up my energy. I look around and notice that everyone still had their illusions on, which made no sense to me because everything usually disappears when I sleep. Perhaps I hadn’t slept deeply enough. But if that was the case, then I wouldn’t feel this rejuvenated…

I decide not to hurt my head any further and finish my meal with the others, who are chattering along quietly, asking questions here and there.

“Are you coming on the daily walk today, Josie?” Emma asks excitedly next to me, and I look at Miss Peregrine. She smiles.

“I’m sure she’d like to, wouldn’t you?” Everyone’s faces are hopeful, and I agree without hesitation.

“There’s been something Claire’s been wanting to ask you,” Hugh says, and Claire looks down at her plate in her shyness.

“What is it, darling?” A moment of silence later, she asks,

“Could you make us a kite to play with?”

“Well what a fantastic idea! Never done that before, this’ll be exciting!” She smiles so bright it makes my heart ache - but not in the sad way. I smile too, my dimples showing through, and Miss Peregrine calls for everyone to clean up and get ready for the walk. Everyone gets up to take their plates to the kitchen, dropping them in the sink and running upstairs to get ready. I decide to stay behind and wash the dishes, and a moment later as I place the last few on the drying rack, Miss Peregrine appears at my side.

“Oh… thank you, darling,” I smile, the way she said ‘darling’ circling in my head. My cheeks feel warm as she watches me place the very last plate on the rack. I dry off my hands and refuse to look at her because she’s looking at me so intensely. “Ready for our walk?” she asks, and I nod as she takes me by the arm and pulls me away from the sink.

~~~ 

The walk is nice. The sun is warm and at some point, I’m not walking with Miss Peregrine anymore, but with Emma.

“We do this every day at the same time,” she tells me, and I nod along. I don’t really fancy talking right now, as Miss Peregrine is right in front of me, and I can see just how cinched her waist really is. She’s so radiant, it kills me. Emma must notice me staring because she starts laughing. “Do you like Miss Peregrine?”

I turn to look at her and, masking my shock and the embarrassment of being caught, I just shrug.

“Yes. She’s nice,” Emma looks like she wants to pry further, but decides to tell me a secret instead.

“Do you want to see something cool? It’s my secret hiding place,” she whispers so that the headmistress can’t hear. With a mischievous grin, I agree to follow her and we giggle as she drags me by the hand down the grassy hill to the beach and finally, down towards the ocean. It’s bright and blue, the waves crashing upon the shore reminding me of the beaches back in France. “Get in.” Emma says, and I follow her to the boat and get in. 

She pushes us into the water, and together we sail across the ocean, further and further from land. We stop in an empty patch of ocean, nothing but ocean surrounding us.

“OK. We’re here. Take your clothes off,” she says, as she starts removing her dress and waiting for me to do the same. Shocked and a little awkward, I remove my hoodie to reveal the blue t-shirt underneath. Then, I tug off my jeans until I'm in my underwear and remove my boots until I’m just in a shirt, knickers and socks. Feeling self-conscious, I cover myself up a little, but Emma doesn’t seem to care what I look like and dives into the water. Freaking out, I jump in after her, chasing her through the depth of the clear water until I see her silhouette, lowering into what looks like the ruins of a ship. This must be the Augusta, which sank in 1915. Emma sinks directly into a hole at the top of the ship, and I follow, quickly losing air. 

As soon as I reach her through the hole, she notices my need for air and from her mouth, blows an air bubble onto my head for me to breathe. From there, I follow her through the ship, past the skeletons still sitting at dining tables, their skulls now the homes of fish.

She swims in front of me, kicking heavily so as to keep her feet from dragging her down. We reach a doorway and she rushes me inside, so I kick faster and help her push the doors closed. She turns the opposite way and in one long breath, she blows all the air she can until all the water in the room disappears through the crack in the door, where she presses them shut properly with a lock. I can still feel the pressure of her air pressing the doors closed, keeping the water at bay, popping in my ears. She wrings out the water in her hair and walks away from the doors.

“So… you don’t just float?” She turns around to laugh at me. Not in a menacing way, just… happily.

“Nope,” she replies, pulling out a box hidden behind what looks to be an old bar. She opens it up to reveal photos and news articles. “Miss Peregrine hasn’t told you about the wights, has she?”

~~~

After a long discussion with Emma, she takes us back up to the surface where we swim to find the boat. After clambering inside, she guides us back to the shore where we tied the boat up and walked back to the house together.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she says as we walk through the front door. By now, the heat has dried most of our clothes off.

“Thank you for telling me about wights and hollows,” she smiles at me and I smile back.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josie shows another side of herself and calls home.

Dinner comes around and by then, Emma and I are dry. She takes me upstairs to her room to change again, where I finally have the chance to change into my formal shirt and tight trousers. As soon as I’m dressed, I neatly pull up my hair and fix my freckles before joining Emma outside her room.

“Wow, you look beautiful! Could you… put a flower in my hair?” I smile and laugh, turning her around by the shoulders and pulling the front of her hair back to rest at the middle of her head in a loose half-ponytail, adorned with flowers and sparkles. I show her my work through two mirrors on either side of her head, and she tears up with joy. I grow worried at the sight of her tears and wipe them away.

“What’s the matter?” I ask as we head towards the staircase. She looks down for a minute as the mirrors disappear.

“Nothing I just… Abe would have loved it,” she said rather miserably. I felt awful, knowing now how much this… man, Abe had meant to her - still means to her, despite him not being around anymore. I rub her shoulder and as we reach the bottom of the stairs, she gives me a watery smile, and I want to make her feel better.

“Hey, do you hear that?” She furrows her brows and listens out. There’s the faint sound of soft tweeting, and when I bring my hands up, I open them to reveal a duckling, chirping happily and dancing around my hands, with a cute little black bowtie. Emma squeals with laughter and as Bronwyn runs over to see what’s happening, I place the fake duckling on her little head and she giggles and dances around with it perched in her hair.

“You sure do know how to cheer someone up, Josie,” I shrug a little and laugh with her as we head to the dining room. There, everyone is already waiting for us. Bronwyn sits down and shows everyone her duckling. I sit down and with the snap of my fingers, the duckling disappears in a puff of sparkles. The children laugh with excitement, and I look over at the headmistress, only to catch her staring at me. But not at my face.

Smirking, I dig into my food and conversation builds up around the table. I like to use my illusions to heighten my beauty and get rid of the things I find ugly. I know it’s not ideal, and given the circumstance, I’d show my future lover my real body. But now, I’d rather it this way. My breasts however? Miss Peregrine’s eyes are just drawn to those anyway. I’ve done nothing to make them any larger or smaller, and every time I catch her looking, a smug feeling comes over me. Catching perfect, time-obsessed Miss Peregrine off guard is now one of my favourite things besides dancing.

~~~

The rest of dinner goes by in a flash, and then movie night where nothing eventful happens - though that boy does make another brief appearance. The children seem excited for another new friend and I’m not jealous per se, just worried that they’ll get bored of me as soon as someone else arrives.

Next is Reset, but I choose to stay inside with Emma and unpack my things that she’d brought to her room hours before already. When the time for sleep comes around, we lie awake and tell secrets, and then fall asleep peacefully until the next morning.

~~~

I leave the next morning before anyone else is awake. Not because of any cruel reason, I simply just need to get home in time to call my mother and check for mail. In the kitchen, I drink up the last mouthful of the tea I’d made myself and wash it in the sink. I hear footsteps, and when I turn around, Miss Peregrine is there, looking no less beautiful without her makeup. She’s dressed in a simple robe and slippers, and the look on her face when she sees me is nothing but pure surprise and she looks… adorable. Then her eyes harden. There are still curlers in her hair, and it’s hard to take her seriously when she looks like this.

“What are you doing up so early?” She asks, going to the kettle to make her own tea.

“It’s just boiled. I need to get home, I might have mail today. Also, there’s someone coming to fix my taps. Some of them don’t work,” I reply in my native tongue, too tired to try and make sense of the English language. She smiles and takes my word for it, picking up the kettle and pouring hot water into a cup. It’s so strange… how elegantly and mechanically she does everything. I apparently say this out loud and she smirks at me, looking down at me through those lashes. Her eyes are so pretty, I think as she gives a short, sharp chuckle.

“Is that a compliment?” She asks, and there’s something flirtatious to her tone that stops me from snapping something witty or sarcastic back at her.

“If you want it to be, then yes, I suppose. The way you move and just…  _ do  _ things fascinates me.  _ You  _ fascinate me. You intrigue me,” my words seem to have either been too much or everything she wanted to hear.

She stares at me for perhaps a moment too long, but I wouldn’t mind staring into those icy blue eyes for all eternity if it meant they were always directed me. With a small, almost shy smile, she approaches me with purpose and backs me up against the counter.

“You tell me often how beautiful you think I am. Let me see you,” It’s not a question so much as a gentle demand, and it’s hard to refuse her when she’s touching my face so softly, tracing my cheek with those nails. I take a second to breathe because honesty scares me, and after a second of looking anywhere but at her, I pull back a tiny bit so I can wave a hand across my face and reveal my true features. When I look up at her through my lashes, she’s staring at me like she’s never seen something so… interesting. “Why did you never-”

“Because I’m insecure,” I say, the honesty of it obvious in my tone. Without my illusions, I’m freckly, dimpled and my cheeks are chubby. The bags under my eyes are visible, the red around my irises now suddenly far more obvious. She traces her other hand up from my side and up to my other cheek. Now with my face between both hands, she leans closer until we’re breaths apart. “Miss Pere-”

“Call me Alma,” and with that, she kisses me.

It’s unlike any other kiss I’ve had before. It’s romantic and full of unspoken feelings and words left unsaid - despite me not even having met her over forty-eight hours ago. She kisses me like she’s been dying to for years and of course, like in life, she takes control and I let her, of course I do. It’s amazing and it’s  _ right.  _ It’s so right I feel like our lips were made for each other’s. When she pulls away, she leans down to peck at my neck, when she realises something.

“Hold on… did you make yourself taller, too?”

~~~

Getting home this morning was painful. All I wanted to do was stay behind and kiss the headmistress, who kisses like a goddess, did I mention?

Everything that happened this morning is definitely something worth writing down. So, as I arrive at the house and shuffle inside, I head straight for my diary and write down the chat and everything leading up to the best kiss I’d ever had… heart bursting, I decide that now is the time to call my mother. I leave the house in the early afternoon and make my way down to the Priest Hole. There, I call my mother, who responds, but... it’s not actually my mother.

“Hello? Who is this?” Baffled at the sound of my uncle’s voice over the phone, I reply,

“Uh, hi uncle Jéry, it’s me, Josephine. Where’s maman?” My uncle laughs - but it’s not joyful in the slightest. 

“Hello, dear. Uncle Jéry tells me you’re on the island! How is it over there?” My aunt’s annoying voice suddenly blasts through the phone and I can’t even deny that the situation is annoying me now.

“Yes, hello auntie. Where’s maman? I need to speak with her,” there’s a silence, and I can feel my heartbeat rising in my throat, the thumping of it painful against my ribcage.

“Um… your mother can’t quite come to the phone right now. She had a bit of a fall and… well… the doctor’s aren’t sure if…” she trails off, but I know that she doesn’t need to go on. I can hear the distinct sound of crying in the background - everyone is at my mother’s side, probably in a hospital ward, except me. I feel dreadful, like I’m going to throw up my guts everywhere. My heart aches painfully in my chest and I feel the burn of tears in my eyes. I don’t cry, it’s not safe to cry here. I could create an illusion that would make me look normal, but I don't think I have the strength. Instead, I politely hang up the phone and promise to return as soon as I can.

I practically run out of the Priest Hole and escape back to my house. But before I can get there, I bump into a man and his teen son.

“Hello, uh, do you speak English?” The father asks, and it takes me a moment to respond because I’m sure I know these people. The son is particularly familiar, and he’s staring off into the distance - awkward.

“Uh… a little,” I respond, and the man smiles. God, I don’t have time for this.

“Good. Uh, where can we find the Priest Hole?” I give him a strange look and turn around, pointing at the pub that reads ‘Priest Hole’. He makes an embarrassed ‘ah’ sound, and mumbles, “see Jake? Told you we were close. Thanks a lot, see you around.” He says as he drags his son along. I don’t take too long to dwell on it, I just want to get home.

At the house, a letter has been posted in the letterbox. It’s in my mother’s handwriting, and there’s a parcel attached. I don’t have the heart to open it right now, and instead go to lie on the couch and cry.

Hours later, I realise I’d fallen asleep again and wake up feeling disoriented and confused as to where I am. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I reach for my glasses that had fallen to the floor amidst my pity nap and get up. Checking the time, it’s already gone four in the afternoon.

“Merde!” I curse, slinging together a few items to leave for the trip to the home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was shorter, I’ll post more tomorrow!!!


	7. Chapter 7 - Jake’s Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake arrives on the island and meets the peculiars. Josie goes back to the home in hopes of feeling better after her bad news, and begins to feel a lot more.

As I reach the home, the children are all playing outside, but gathering to go inside to get ready for dinner.

“Josie!” Bronwyn exclaims and runs to hug me. I pick her up this time and hug her myself, and she giggles into my hair. “We have a new guest! Come and meet him, his name is Jake!” I tense up a little. Where do I know that name? I heard it earlier, I’m sure. I let her down and she takes me tightly by the hand, her grip bone-crushing as she leads me along through the house to the kitchen, where Miss Peregrine stands. “Miss Peregrine, where is Jake? Josie needs to meet him!” She turns at the sound of my name and smiles warmly. She looks breathtaking, as per usual.

“Ah! You’re back. I didn’t think you’d-” she cuts herself off. She stares at my face and I internally curse; she must see through my cracking illusion. A quick swipe and it’s back to normal. “Bronwyn, why don’t you tell everyone that supper’s almost ready?” Bronwyn whines a little, but squeezes my hand tightly as she leaves to do as told. As soon as she’s left the room, my facade cracks and I collapse into Alma’s arms right as she knows I’m going to fall. 

I bury my head into her shoulder and quietly weep. She says nothing, simply holds me tight - I’m so close I can smell whatever wonderful perfume she uses. She runs fingers through my hair, nails scratching my scalp gently. Her hand presses my head ever closer into the crook of her neck and she sways us back and forth, calmly shushing me. After a minute, I regain my composure and step back, swiping the evidence of tears and snot off of my face.

“I-I’m sorry, I just… bad news,” I say in English. She smiles, but it’s broken and full of worry. Her eyes are shining, like it pains her to see me cry, so I sweep my hands in front of my face and remove all the evidence I can until I’m back to my normal, beauty-spelled self. She frowns and tucks stray strands of hair behind my ear. “I did not think I could even… cry, any more.” She coos and pulls me close, taking me to the counter, exactly where we’d kissed earlier. She drags her thumb over my cheek and sweetly kisses the other. I feel like I can tell her anything.

“What happened?” A tear slips out, which I quickly wipe away. I don’t like weakness, I don’t like vulnerability. Since a young age I’ve always fought to hide it, though I never really knew why.

“My mother, she… she fell and she’s in the hospital and the doctors don’t think she’ll make it and she’s probably going to die and it’s all my fault and I’m not there-” I begin wailing again, the illusion snapping in half and exploding into pieces. She holds me up and I grip onto her in case I fall, which I know she wouldn’t let me - but I feel like everything else is falling. My emotions are pouring out for the first time in years, my face is the ugliest version of myself - but Miss Peregrine, Alma, doesn’t seem to care. 

“It’s alright, dove. You’ll be just fine. I’ve got you.”

We stay like that for a further five minutes before she has to prepare the dinner, and the whole time I stay by her side, fixing my reflection.

“Maybe leave the freckles? You look cute,” she says, and the word ‘cute’ rings in my head. It’s probably a foreign word to her, and I smile tearfully, letting her watch me bring forth the freckles. She stares for a moment, a soft smile on her face. “Beautiful.” She whispers before kissing me. It’s brief and sweet, and I try to chase it but she just laughs at me and continues to set food on plates. 

Pouting, I go to the dining room to start setting out knives and forks. Emma comes down and the second she sees me, she smiles.

“Josie! You’re back!” She gives me a hug and turns to face a boy. It’s the boy from earlier that was with his dad. It must be Jake, that’s why I remembered the name. “You two havent met! Jake, this is Josephine.” I shake his hand politely.

“Aren’t you the-”

“Yes,” I reply, letting go of his hand and turning to Emma, who’s looking at us both curiously. I decide not to go into it, I don’t have the energy. Brownyn turns a corner with Claire and the twins, and they all come and hug me. “Hello little sweethearts!” I exclaim, and just being here and the home with Alma and the children is making me feel better already. Alma walks through and smiles.

“Time to sit, you can hug Miss Arquette later,” the twins, Claire and Bronwyn let go and take me by the hands to the table, where I sit in my now regular seat.

“Do you feel happier now?” Bronwyn asks me as she takes her seat as well, the rest of the peculiars coming and sitting. They each greet me, and it fills my heart with warmth knowing that they still care, and they still want me here despite having a new guest.

“Darling, as long as I am here, I am the happiest girl in the world,” everyone at the table gives out an ‘awe’ and Claire claps excitedly. Except for Hugh, who retches. He doesn’t mean it, but I smile nonetheless.

“Does that mean you’ll stay forever?” I look down at the plate Alma places in front of me as she sits beside me, caressing my hand on the table.

“Well… there are some things I need to do first, but…” I look into Alma’s eyes and see nothing but hope. I know she wouldn’t try to make me stay if I didn’t want to, but something in my heart pulls me here every day, and something in my head pulls me back to France. “There are some things I need to do first,” I say with a curt nod of my head to signal the end of the conversation. “Now eat up before your food gets cold.”

~~~

Dinner goes by surprisingly well… at first. Hugh forgets his net again, Millard tries to take dinner naked but is quickly stopped by the headmistress. Questions are directed only at Jacob, and it’s nice that all the focus isn’t on me for once. Though I’m still a little jealous that no one is talking to me, I shrug it off because Jake is the new boy and everyone wants to know things from him and where he’s from. I’m sure that once he settles in like me, they’ll stop fussing so much. A hand caresses mine, and I realise that I’m holding my knife so tightly my knuckles are turning white.

I don’t look at Alma, but I do loosen my fist and continue to quietly eat. 

“Do they have spaceships in your time, Jacob? Like the ‘Flash Gordon’ books?” Olive pipes up among the others, looking at Jake.

“Now, Olive. What did I say about asking questions?” Olive glances away guiltily, and I feel bad for her, though it’s probably for the best. “We don’t discuss the future, here. We live in the good old here and now,” Miss Peregrine says as she violently tears off a piece of chicken and eats it. I don’t acknowledge the heat that surfaces in my stomach. “Claire, why aren’t you eating?” Glancing at Claire, the poor thing is staring down at her plate in embarrassment, similar to how she was with me on my first day.

“She’s embarrassed in front of Jake,” Hugh says matter-of-factly, and Jake quickly intercepts.

“Oh, don’t be,” with a shy smile, and a wink from Miss Peregrine (my stomach does erupt in butterflies, then and maybe flips a few times), Claire brings the chicken leg to the back of her head where her second mouth is, lifts her ringlets, and all that’s heard is the violent chomping of meat. A second or so later, she drops the leg back down on the plate, the meat devoured entirely. Smiling, I look down at my plate and decide I’m not quite as hungry as I thought. I can’t eat when I worry, and I’m worried about my mother, who’s all the way over in Strasbourg, in a hospital bed. I gulp a little, but try not to draw attention to myself.

“You should stay,” Olive says again, and she’s got that cute, excited look on her face that shows she’s being absolutely sincere.

“For the night? Or…”

“Forever! You should stay forever!” Claire bursts, jumping a little in her seat.

“Why would he? He can go out there and leave us. Just like his grandfather did,” Enoch’s snide voice cuts through, and with an awkward moment of silence that no one dares break, not even the headmistress, Emma slams her cutlery upon the table, unbuckles herself from her chair and storms out of the room.

“Emma!” Alma calls after her, but the girl doesn’t return. “Enoch, how could you say such a thing? You  _ know  _ why Abe left us.”

“To join the Army,” Hugh interjects, yet again. A skill of his, I think.

“And then he met a lady, got married, had a nice wedding cake, and a  _ lovely  _ little baby!” Bronwyn, sweet and naive says, smiling unknowingly. I’m lucky I don’t know too much, but also unfortunate to not know  _ enough.  _ And I’m sure Alma would refuse to… discuss unpleasant matters. 

“Children. I’m sure you’d all like a new friend, but I’m sure Jake has plenty of friends of his own back in Florida,” Miss Peregrine’s voice cuts through any more questioning and everyone quiets down. As we finish, the phone rings as usual. Hugh had let me know that it was in fact Abe from back in 1943, and the phone call happened at the exact same time every single day. I look down solemnly with the rest of the children, and Miss Peregrine rises to take the call. “Children, please prepare for movie night.” She instructs as she walks to the door.

“But you always let us stay for it,” Claire complains, her voice sad. The headmistress turns to glare at us (my stomach  _ flares  _ with warmth), so no one protests any further as she leaves the room.

~~~

“Are you alright?” I ask Emma as she takes her seat, ready for movie night.

“Yeah,” she replies, lacking any oomph, but I let her be. She has Jake to cheer her up now, anyway. A moment later, Miss Peregrine steps into the room and takes her usual place just beside Horace, who starts up the movie. This time, I’m sitting on the floor with both Claire and Bronwyn on my lap, the twins on either side of me, holding my arms.

I feel secure and loved and I can’t help but place little kisses on both girl’s’ heads. The twins grumble beside me, bumping their heads into my shoulders. With a small, quiet laugh, I give them kisses on the head each right as the movie begins playing.

Like Emma told me before, it’s mostly just clothes - Horace posing in front of mirrors in wonderfully tailored suits - until it’s not. A woman towed along by wights appears, fear evident of her face.

“An Ymbryne. Miss Peregrine, do you know her?” Fiona asks over the distressed sounds coming from Horace’s dream. Alma doesn’t reply, nor does she even acknowledge the question. 

“Don’t be silly. Horace probably just had a bad dream,” Hugh reassures her. I smile. I love how everyone protects and looks after each other here, and despite their differences, they can see that they’re not all that different after all. They’ve dealt with the persecutions of non-peculiars and have been shunned and scared into hiding, and yet here they are. Strong and caring for each other like family. I suppose that they are. I wonder if I could be a part of their family.

I almost miss the next part of the dream, where Jake and Emma are bordering on kissing. In unison, we lean forward, practically falling off of our seats in suspense. The headmistress stops the movie.

Everyone whines and complains but I’m relieved. There would be nothing cringier than watching two young people kiss.

“I should get back,” Jake says, beginning to rise.

“Won’t you stay for Reset?” Someone asks, and I light up standing up with Claire and Bronwyn in my arms.

“Oh, you should! It’s brilliant!” Jake takes my word for it and nods awkwardly.

“Uh, sure. Yeah I’ll stay,” everyone cheers and soon we’re all led outside to watch the Reset. “So, you’ve seen it before?” Jake asks from beside me, trying to strike up a casual conversation. Perhaps he’s intimidated by me, which would be quite funny. Perhaps he just wants to know what I’m doing here - I’m obviously not a child. My arms ache from holding the girls but we’re almost there. The twins are following on both sides, gripping onto my jacket.

“Yeah, it’s so cool! The headmistress’s peculiarity has something to do with time. It’s so strange, standing there in the middle of frozen time, everything all still around you!” I say it so quickly in my enthusiasm I’m not sure he understood me. But no matter. Hopefully the illusion was clear enough for him to get bits of it before we come to a resting spot and gather our masks. The girls wriggle down but stay firmly by my sides, holding my hands, grasping my clothes, like they’re worried I’ll suddenly leave. Unlikely.

I desperately want to stand with Alma and take her arm, lean my head on her shoulder, let her kiss my forehead and tell me how much she adores me. Again, unlikely.

I shake the negative thoughts out of my head when the time comes to put on the masks. Emma is beside me, and beside her is Jake, looking around in confusion. Yeah, I felt that way too.

It’s surprising how familiar this is to me now, like second nature. Everything, despite only happening a couple of times while I’ve been here, makes perfect sense to me. I shrug it off as just liking being here instead of in reality, instead of acknowledging what it really is.

I belong here.

Thoughts for another time. Right now, time is stopping, and so does the bomb right above the house. Alma’s silhouette looks gorgeous, the minimal light from the house outlining her slim frame. I want to see her naked so badly.

_ Why _ am I like this. Thoughts for later, thoughts for later, thoughts for later-

As soon as I stop my inner mantra, it’s all over. Jake is amazed, but I’m in another world. The children at my side hurry off when Alma approaches, entwining our arms. I must be dreaming.

“You look dazed. Did you enjoy the show?” She means the Reset, but all I can think of is the way those fingers moved against her stupid stopwatch, how her waist looked so wonderful to wrap my arms around while we- 

Swallowing I nod.

“Yeah, but… something else was on my mind,” she seems to assume I’m talking about my mother, and squeezes my hand in hers when she rests it atop of mine, twisted through her arm. “It’s not maman. I was just… you looked… look…” I can’t find the words, neither in French nor in English. She chuckles above me.

“Ah. I see. Are you staying the night?” She asks, and I blanch a little. Emma smiles at me as she passes, pulling Jake along to the front door; I suppose he has to leave.

“Oh, I… didn’t pack anything,” I confess, and as we reach the stairs where everyone’s already clambered up, she smiles at me; adoring, tender, warm. She traces a hand over my cheek, caressing my chin to turn my face up to meet her gaze. My eyes flutter closed at the soft contact, and she smiles wider.

“That’s quite alright. You can borrow one of my nightgowns, on one condition,” my eyes open. Me in one of her no doubt gorgeous nightgowns, probably lacy, probably  _ tight _ , and I am not that thin, my waist not  _ nearly  _ as cinched.

“What’s that?” I say, despite myself.

“You spend the night in my room.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy this one was longer hope you enjoyed!!


	8. Chapter 8 - The Other Ymbryne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josie spends the night in the headmistress’ room. Alma learns new things about Josie, and Emma brings distressing news.

Once everyone is in bed, Alma switches the lights off around the house and leads me upstairs by the hand to her room - which I’ve never been to before. When she gently guides me inside, she shuts the door behind us and switches on a low-lit lamp. It casts a pretty glow around the room, and I gasp.

The room is similar to the other children's rooms, except it’s smaller and fits a large bed with dark, soft looking sheets. The curtains are a deep blue, and Alma walks past me to close them. Then, she goes to the wardrobe opposite the bed and rifles through some clothes to find me a nightgown. She pulls one out for herself and then for me, but I’m walking to the other side of the room. Beside the window is a desk and chair, filled with pictures and old paperwork. A picture frame stands at the far corner of the table - the children. I can’t help but lean closer to it and smile.

“Having fun nosing around?” She asks with a cheeky smile and I laugh.

“You look… cool,” I say as I examine her posture in the photograph. I look down solemnly. “I wish I had cool photos like that.” Alma sighs through her nose and steps closer to rub a hand along my arm. Taking my hand, she brings it up to her mouth to kiss my palm and stops to stare.

“Wherever did you get these?” I chuckle, and she frowns at the marks littering my palms and fingers all the way to my wrists.

“I didn’t know I had a peculiarity until I was twenty,” she seems shocked, but continues to fondle my hands, stroking along the one, long scar running from the base of my left pinky, along my palm to the side of my wrist. She kisses it, the feeling soothing and gentle. “I did anything I could to figure out what it was, but I was also careless and reckless,” she nods in understanding. “I’d touch fire, slice myself on knives, punch trees and walls, grip barbed wire… I gave up in the end. And then I asked maman if I actually had one, and she told me about how when I was a baby I’d create illusions that I could touch and let others touch. I… can’t really make big illusions anymore, not like when I was a baby. I’m always too tired and low on energy.” I finish, letting out a long exhale, taking the dress from her. I’ve long since lost some feeling in my hands, but I can still feel the lace of the nightgown she’s letting me wear against my fingertips.

“I think they’re beautiful,” she says honestly, and I grin.

“Everyone’s got scars. I’m not ashamed of them, not anymore, but I have learned to be more careful and… to take care of myself. The only issue is that if I was ever murdered they wouldn’t be able to use my fingerprints to identify me because they’ve all been soldered off,” Alma lets out a hearty laugh and opens her arms to hug me. It’s warm and tight and reassuring, full of understanding and… mutual adoration.

“Go get changed. The ensuite is over there,” I glance over at where she’s pointing and sure enough, there’s a door next to the wardrobe. I risk giving her a kiss on the cheek and she blushes a little; it’s sweet. I take the nightgown and close the bathroom door behind me. Holding the nightgown in front of me, I realise it’s quite long, longer than me in my natural state. Miss Peregrine was right, I do make myself taller, something I don’t like to admit. It’s cream coloured and lacy at the top, cotton pooling from the waist to the bottom. Honestly, it’s more like a ball gown. I reduce my height back to normal, remove all traces of my beauty spells and remove my glasses. Stepping out of today’s clothes, I realise that my hips might not fit into the dress, but I’ll do my best to try as I slip off my bra and I’m left in my underwear, stalling. I don’t know why I’m stalling - am I embarrassed? Am I too shy to wear such a beautiful woman’s nightgown? I shake myself and pull the gown over my head. It’s tight - as expected - around my breasts, hips and stomach but I make it work. Pulling it down until it’s smooth against me and lacks creases, I look in the small mirror. It’s just me, but in a tight dress. No, nightgown. Honestly this thing is far too ornate to be worn to bed. Should have brought my pyjamas. It feels nice, though. It’s soft and light and I can see why people wore these in the past. It’s also a little flattering and shows off curves I didn’t know I had, but it’s also pooling below my ankles and touching the floor due to my height. I’m five foot… something.

I can’t find a hairbrush to fix my wild hair so I fold my clothes and I realise that the nightgown smells just like Alma. It’s a wonderful scent, and so familiar that I can’t help but close my eyes.

I sigh and leave the bathroom, where Alma is already on her side of the bed, tucked in the sheets and pulling pins out of her hair, placing them with a ‘clink’ in a jar on her bedside table. She looks up when I exit the bathroom and I can’t help but flush under her attention, her intense stare boring into every part of my body. I drop my clothes on an armchair, taking a second to admire the patterns embroidered into it before she rises from her bed and comes to stand in front of me. I can’t quite look at her, shier without my illusions but she tilts my head up by the chin again, looking into the dull blue of my eyes.

“You are so beautiful,” she says before she leans forward and captures my lips again. I sigh into it, instantly melting into her and grasping at her slim waist, our lips moving against each other’s in sync. She reaches up and tangles a hand in my hair and I can’t help but moan a little when she gives it a sharp pull, tilting my head back. She takes the opportunity to mouth at my throat, leaving wet kisses along my neck to my shoulder where she traces a finger under the lace, grazing her fingers against my collarbones. With one last kiss to my waiting lips, she pulls back again and smiles at the dazed look on my face. “There. That ought to be enough for now.” She reaches behind me and grabs a hairbrush, pulling me along to her bed where she sits down and gestures for me to sit between her open legs.

“Uh… I’m scared the dress will tear…” she laughs and pulls me down, and to my surprise, the dress holds well. She gathers my hair in her fingers, nails brushing against my neck and I shiver. She begins humming a soft tune that I don’t recognise, brushing out my hair so gently I can hardly feel it. “You can go harder, if you’d like. I can take it.”

“Oh, can you, now?” I can hear the smugness in her voice as she chuckles lowly and brushes through the tangles rougher. It doesn’t hurt, but it does feel nice - like when my mother used to brush my hair as a child, putting it up ready for school. I tear up a little but push her out of my mind, focusing only on the feel of the brush going through now soft strands, her other hand smoothing over it afterwards. “There. Wonderful.” She murmurs, mostly to herself as she drops the brush on the bed. She leans against my back, still humming, and gently rocks us from side to side. She needs to stop that, or I’ll fall asleep. I can feel my head falling, eyes drooping shut. 

A kiss to my jaw startles me awake like electricity, her hands sweeping over my sides to rest on my stomach. She kisses me again, on the ear. Reaching up with her hand, she gently scrapes a nail over the shell of my ear and I shiver, relaxing into her even more. 

“What are these?” She’s referring to my helix piercings. She examines a hoop and hums.

“Piercings. I got them when I was seventeen. They hurt like a bitch but they’re fine now,” she hums again and kisses one, nuzzling her face into the crook of my neck. Everything about this seems so domestic and familiar, like it’s meant to be. She grazes her thumbs over my sides and stomach, hums me a lullaby and kisses me tenderly anywhere she can reach. I let her, of course. I want this more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life.

“You smell like me,” she mumbles into my neck, leaving a kiss there, her breath hot against my skin. I sigh out a tired laugh.

“Yeah. I like smelling like you,” I admit, and she squeezes me in her arms.

“I could hold you like this forever,” she says, almost as if she’s reluctant to be so honest but I lean my head back until it’s resting against her shoulder. I turn to the side and peck at her jawline, as sharp as the rest of her.

“I want to brush your hair,” I say, looking up at her with big, hopeful eyes. She pretends to mull it over, and nods. I sit up, filled with energy again and grab the brush, ushering her in front of me so she can sit in my lap instead. I take a moment to breathe her in - she smells amazing, looks amazing, feels amazing against my front. I don’t want this to end. She laughs at my stalling, so I heighten myself a little with what energy I have left and brush her hair. It’s silky soft anyway, with only a few tangles here and there.

It’s wavy, and when the brush slides through, it bounces back and I can’t help but giggle.

“It’s so wavy,” I mumble through laughter and she pinches my leg gently. I take that as a sign to shut up and carry on. After a bit of brushing, it smooths out until it’s just below her shoulders, curling prettily. “There. All done.” I whisper, unsure she’s even heard me but she has.

“Your English is getting better. Or were you too shy before to show me how well you spoke?” She asks, and I shrug. Honestly? I’m not sure. Maybe all this time I could speak more English than I knew, but didn’t quite have the confidence to  _ really _ speak it. She doesn’t ask more questions, simply rises to take the hairbrush back to it’s spot on the vanity. “Or maybe, your illusions are stronger than you thought, and really, you’ve been using them this whole time without even knowing it.” She says as I wiggle over to the empty spot on the bed and shake my head in disbelief.

“Yeah, right,” I say, but there’s no real energy to it. I’m exhausted now, but that doesn’t stop a thought coming into my head. What if I really am constantly creating illusions, and I’ve been doing it for so long that I don’t even realise? Perhaps there’s more to be done than flower crowns and turning dresses different colours that make the children squeal with delight. Maybe… maybe I can do more.

I lie down and squirm into the covers, a little cold. As if sensing this, Alma switches off the lamp and scoots closer, and an arm laces around my waist to pull me closer, too. I’m pressed right up against her front, my face in front of her collarbone. She reaches up and threads her fingers through my hair.

“However do you keep up such an illusion on your hair?” She asks suddenly, gently tugging at the strands.

“You mean the colour?” She hums in affirmation, the sound tired but interested. “I use dye.” She huffs a laugh. The colour in question is a fading marine blue as of now, however I have dyed it many colours in the past.

“Of course. That sort of thing doesn’t come around here. I suppose things are a lot different in your time. What’s your natural colour?” I snuggle closer, and she responds by squeezing me tightly against her, almost afraid to let me go lest I vanish.

“Dark blonde,” Alma smiles against my forehead, giving it a quick kiss. She traces her talon-like nails across my cheek and revels in the shivers she receives.

“I think you’d look quite pretty with your natural hair,” she says, like it’s a fact. I grin and reply,

“I’ll show you tomorrow. Please kiss me?” She shuffles down and I move up so we meet halfway and she giggles against my lips. The sound is sweet and adorable and I lean forward first, putting all of my admiration for her into one kiss. One kiss becomes another, and then another until we’re full on making out in her bed. She squeezes me close, grips my hips and my hair - she now knows I like that - and twists her tongue with mine, something messy and yet so controlled about it that has me squirming into her. She trails the hand on my waist lower and digs her nails into the meat of my thigh. I gasp sharply and jerk into the pain, the hand in my hair pulling until I struggle to breathe.

She’s doing this on purpose, I can tell. I’ve had enough experience with kissing to know that I am never the dominant one, and I’m OK with that, and she’s doing these things to me to show me I’m not the dominant one - not that I needed reminding.

In retaliation, I trail a hand from where it’s holding onto her hip and drag my nails across her ribs to one of her breasts, concealed in lace. She gives a sharp gasp as the touch and then moans and pulls away when I give it a rough squeeze. She stares at me, scandalised, lips swollen, eyes wide.

“You want to play it that way, hm?” Perhaps I had taken the wrong route, but maybe that was a good choice considering she’s now shoving me onto my back and towering over me, her hair brushing my cheeks. She straddles me properly and drags a hand down my torso, nails scratching and grazing all the right places, mouth on my pulse point. “You are stunning.” She says, biting into my collarbone and I cry out. Her hand flies to cover my mouth and she giggles softly, kissing my temple.

“You’re gorgeous,” I try to say in French, but it’s muffled behind her hand. She takes it away and quirks a brow. “You’re gorgeous.” I say again, and she flushes beautifully.

“There’s something you’re not telling me…” she says smugly, like she’s just found out the best secret. Confused, I ask,

“What? What do you mean?” Alma laughs at me. It must be obvious, she’s probably mocking me for not even knowing.

“You like pain, don’t you,” she poses it as more of a fact and I wriggle under her with discomfort. It must have been that obvious then. She pulls away to watch me blush and I refuse to look at her. She’s waiting for a response.

“I… well…” I don’t feel like dignifying her with a real answer, so instead I stay silent.

“Ha! Thought so. I’ll bet these weren’t  _ just  _ about finding out your peculiarity, hm?” She raises my hand and kisses the scar on my palm, less tenderly than before, more… possessive now. She likes this, she likes knowing I like pain. As soon as she figures it out and can see in my face that she’s right, she lets out a triumphant laugh and kisses me again. This time, she’s rougher. 

She bites my lip and I moan at the pain that flares there, her thumb rubbing along my scar. I have to pull away to clarify,

“The scar, the big one, that really was an accident. I actually… got it when I was younger,” she pulls away to give it another look. It’s jagged and spiked in places where a knife couldn’t possibly have created something so barbed. She gets off me, now curious and I sigh. So much for being kissed into a stupor.

“How then?” She insists, still holding my hand, tracing the marks. There are nicks here and there along my hand, down my wrist to my elbows, hardly noticeable until you take a real, closer look.

“When I was eleven, I had some friends at school that used to do daring things and I wanted to do daring things too, mostly because I was reckless and never cared about how badly I got hurt. One day after school, I followed my friends to a place in the woods where there was an abandoned shed. I had to go through the initiation in order to be a part of the club. It involved being cut in the hand by something sharp. They used a saw. It wasn’t too deep, I bled a lot but I didn’t cry. To me, the blood was fascinating. It scabbed up and after a while, maman noticed what I’d done. She got really mad and made me promise to never talk to those kids again,” Alma pulled me into her and kissed up my neck. I leaned into her touch, her hand still gripping mine.

We share little secrets here and there for a while longer before I eventually fall asleep in her arms, her lips pressing against my forehead one last time.

~~~

I wake up the next morning early, disoriented and confused. Arms are wrapped around me, holding me close and tight. A cheek is nuzzled against my forehead, warm and soft. I vaguely register the fact that I’m drooling. The sound that woke me up comes again, loud and urgent. It’s knocking. The person holding me shuffles and sits up, their arms uncurling from my body. I open my eyes and the person is looking at me.

“Where am I? What’s that noise?” I sit up and the person unblurs. It’s Alma. Everything comes back to me, and I wipe away the drool. The knocking comes again, the sound of Emma’s voice filtering through.

“Miss Peregrine! It’s important, please open the door!” She sounds panicked, and Alma is on her feet in a millisecond, running to the door to reveal Emma, cradling a bird in her arms.

Emma is in her pyjamas, crying and breathing heavily, frantically telling a story of how she found the bird outside after it had flown into the front doors, waking Emma up. The other children were awake too, shuffling around and mumbling questions while rubbing their eyes.

“Miss P? What’s going on, why is there so much noise?” Millard asks, followed by Olive and Horace. 

“She’s an Ymbryne. The one from Horace’s dream,” Emma clarifies shakily, and she spots me in bed. “Jo? I didn’t know you were here…” she says suspiciously, but doesn’t dare come in. I stand and make my way over to the door but can’t find the energy to speak so I wave. Alma holds the bird, staring down at it with a strong look of concern. She snaps her head up and tells everyone to go back to bed, and reluctantly, they do. Emma is the last to leave. She eventually does, retreating to her bedroom as I turn to Alma, who is already looking at me.

“What time is it?” I mumble in French. Alma doesn’t reply right away, too busy staring at my face. “Alma?”

“Right. It’s four in the morning,” I nod. Makes sense why I can’t do anything, I haven’t slept long enough. “Go back to bed darling, you’re tired.” I shake my head.

“No. I want to help,” she sighs and kisses my forehead, then looks down at the bird again.

“You’ll regret it when you don’t have energy later. Come, we must nurse this Ymbryne back to health.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only half of it was proof read sorry, I’m super tired so if there’s a mistake or smth I’m sorry, I don’t want to look myself because I’ll only get embarrassed. Hope you enjoyed!


	9. Chapter 9 - Mr Barron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josie finds out what really happened to her mother, and the headmistress and her children have an unwelcome guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh I’ve changed a few things around in this chapter, like Enoch’s room. In the book, I’m pretty sure his room is in the basement, so I kept it that way - it goes with his personality I think. It literally doesn’t matter. I just feel like I need to explain myself. 
> 
> Sorry this is so late, enjoy!!

Downstairs in the kitchen, Miss Peregrine cares for the bird. I’ve since learned that it is indeed an injured Ymbryne, and her name is Miss Avocet from a loop in Blackpool. She’d flown all the way here, and it just so turns out that it’s the bird from Horace’s dream the night before.

Awkward and falling asleep, I stand and make my way to the counter, facing away from Alma and slapping myself in the face to wake myself up. I never do well in the morning, especially after so little sleep. Anyway, I rub the sore spot and turn to find Alma tenderly shushing the bird and feeding it what I assume is some kind of medicine.

“Will she be OK?” I ask, and Alma sighs through her nose. Tilting her head to the side as she watches the Ymbryne’s movements. She’s probably more concerned over the fact that this is her fellow Ymbryne, basically a mother to it’s own children. With a small sigh of my own through my nose, I sit back down and sway back and forth with Alma, who gives a small chuckle at my mannerisms.

“She should be fine. She’s in shock. Why don’t you go back to bed?” She asks, no doubt staring at the bags that are probably beginning to form under my eyes. I shrug and rub them vigorously with the heels of my palms. I shake my head, and she doesn’t protest. I like to think that she likes my company, though we’re not really talking. A beat later, I ask,

“Is it bad for her to be in bird form for so long?” Alma looks up, then back down at Miss Avocet.

“It’s not ideal for any Ymbryne to be in bird form for longer than forty-eight hours,” I stare at her, perplexed. What did that mean?

“What do you mean? Can all Ymbrynes turn into birds?” I mumble, completely and utterly confused. I thought Miss Peregrine’s peculiarity was the manipulation of time, and the fact that her surname was a type of bird meant that she’d changed it and it was merely a coincidence that so many other Ymbryne’s had a bird-surname. All this thinking so early in the morning makes my head hurt. She gives a sardonic chuckle.

“Did you really not know?” She asks, disbelieving, as if it were obvious. It probably is, and I’m just stupidly narrow-minded. “Darling, all Ymbryne’s can in fact turn into birds. Our last names are quite… self-explanatory, wouldn’t you think?” I flush harder than I have in a while, too tired to cover it up. She laughs at my embarrassment.

“I… I didn’t want to assume… I thought you only have one peculiarity. Not just you, everyone. Millard is invisible. Hugh has bees in his belly and… Emma can float,” I suddenly realise that this whole time, I’ve been extremely stupid. I never thought to ask if there was anything else worth mentioning when it came to the children’s peculiarities - but it was none of my business!

“There are no limits to a peculiarity, my dear. Some take years to discover one, others take years to notice there’s something a little more to it. You can create illusions - it took you until you were twenty to realise this. Your illusions aren’t something simple that you can reach right through and swipe away - I don’t know, I’m not familiar with modern holo… oh, what’s it called?”

“Holograms?”

“That’s it, I knew I was close. Anyway, you have the extraordinary ability to not only  _ create _ illusions, but make them seem so  _ real _ that you can actually touch and use them to your advantage. You could do anything you wanted, if you so desired. That’s what I find so fascinating about you. You know exactly how to utilise your illusions, when to use them and you always use them in the nicest way possible. My children adore you, you know,” I smile, bowing my head. It’s a lot to take in, being so early and my head is already swimming with too much information. I close my eyes for a minute, and try to imagine using my skill for anything other than flower crowns and beauty spells.

Miss Peregrine laughs softly, and I open my eyes, eyebrows furrowed and questioning.

“See? You don’t even realise you’re doing it, half the time. When you think, what you think about appears in a bubble above your head. Did you really not know you did this?” I’m not that impressed by this, as it’s crap information I don’t really need to consider. It’s not useful, it’s not helpful, it’s just… something a cartoon character does in a comic. Instead of acknowledging it, I shrug and look away. She seems to understand what’s going through my head at all times, and it’s frustrating. “Do you not think that’s impressive? I do, I think it’s cute.” I blush a little again, sighing in fake annoyance.

“I wish I could do something cool with it. I wish I could help out in bad situations, fight bad guys. Don’t get me wrong, I love making flower crowns for the children and turning dresses different colours but I wish there was… more,” Alma reaches forward with her free hand, the other cradling Miss Avocet. She holds onto my fingers lightly, loose enough for me to pull away, tight enough to show her reassurance. I squeeze onto them, holding on.

“You already can, sweetheart. You just don’t know it yet,” I don’t get the chance to question her further as Miss Avocet begins chirping awake. Alma begins tending to her again, so I rest my cheek on the table - cooling the blush there - and close my eyes. I’ll just rest for a moment.

By the time I open my eyes, the clock is chiming. I sit up and wipe away the drool pooling across my cheek, rub my eyes. I look across the table, where Alma is still there - except she’s fully dressed. She catches me looking and smiles so lovingly my heart shatters and immediately pieces back together again.

“Hello,” she says with a bright grin, and I look her up and down in confusion.

“How… how did you get dressed in like… five minutes? Is that another peculiarity of yours you haven’t told me yet?” I ask, bewildered. She laughs, shaking her head.

“You were sleeping for exactly two hours and forty-one minutes, darling,” incredulous, I look at the clock. It really is seven, I must not have dreamed. I apologise, and she shakes her head with a demeaning tut. “Don’t apologise. You were tired and needed your rest. You snore by the way.” She says, gauging my reaction with a smug smile. 

“I snore when I’m especially tired,” I admit, and she gives me a forlorn look. I shrug, not liking the awkwardness of the truth.

“Well. You do this sweet thing when you sleep, you know? You had little rabbits jumping in circles around your head,” she says, and she’s smiling as she’s saying it, her giggle sweet and gentle. Not mocking, more amazed. I shake my head with a snort. “Did you sleep better?” I nod.

“I always sleep better when I’m not alone,” I mumble, stretching out, the cracking of bones the only sound in the kitchen other than birds chirping outside, and Miss Avocet’s quiet gurgling. “Is she OK?” Alma sighs, but does give a weak smile. She must be so tired, and so worried. I suppose they consider themselves sisters in a way, which makes sense, somehow, in my dazed mind. I’m beginning to become far too familiar with the goings on in the world of peculiardom.

“She’s doing remarkably well. She should be back to her old self by noon, I think,” I can tell that not knowing the exact time stresses her out, possibly angers her as she lives her life consumed by it, controlling it and following it… it’s amusing, but I also pity her and wouldn’t dare laugh. So instead I clear my throat and excuse myself back upstairs. She gives me a kiss on the cheek and I smile happily, practically jumping up the stairs only to crash into Emma, leaving her own room.

“Josie! You’re here!”

~~~

Emma provides me with a dress, a light blue one like hers that flows. I tie my hair up in a ponytail and put on my boots to go outside. Before I do, I head to the kitchen to make a quick drink, thirsty after not drinking anything for hours. Alma is still there, in her same spot, nursing the poor Ymbryne. It’s cooing and actively shuffling around in Alma’s arms, so I hope it isn’t long until it manages to turn back. She doesn’t look up when I walk in, so I don’t disturb her as I walk right over to the counter and browse the tea selection. There isn’t a lot, but there is coffee. I had no idea, and I could really use a caffeine boost. I chuck a couple of spoonfuls into a mug - far too much than usual but I feel like if I don’t, the coffee won’t even be worth it. I scamper off to find Olive, who’s downstairs in Enoch’s room - a dank, dingy basement that smells like damp and chemicals. I’ve never actually been down here, and when I walk in, Olive is smiling at me calmly. She comes over almost immediately to greet me, giving me a small hug.

“Hi, Josie. I was just leaving anyway. Enoch is in a bad mood.”

Said boy grumbles at his desk where he’s fiddling with some hearts. I can’t help but stare and watch as he carefully inserts a tiny, beating heart into a crevice of a doll’s head. I breathe out a ‘wow’. Olive sighs softly and drags me up the basement steps to the kitchen. “Did you need something, by the way?” Lovely Olive asks, linking our arms together. She seems sadder today, almost downtrodden, like she’d received bad news. But she also looks like she doesn’t want to talk about it and I can take a damn hint so I squeeze her arm and bump my head against her shoulder.

“Yeah, actually. I was wondering if you have the time to boil the kettle?” She giggles and nods.

“You know, you can actually use the stove?” I smile, but I don’t want to tell her how impatient I am. I can never really wait for anything.

“Yeah, but I want to watch you do it. It’s so cool!” She flushes red and looks away, her gaze shy as we enter the kitchen. Miss Peregrine is now paying attention to us, and I giggle as I pull Olive along to the kettle. She’s murmuring under her breath as she fills it with water, my eager eyes watching every single movement. She pulls off her glove as she sets the kettle on the stove, eyeing me warily.

“You're creeping me out…” she half whines, half jokes. So I comically cover my eyes and spin around, facing away from her. This brings out a laugh from her. I hear the water bubbling behind me and do a little happy dance. “What’s got you so happy this morning?” I turn back around, hair flailing and slapping me in the face. 

“Nothing! I’m just excited for the day,” I say, though it’s only half of the truth. Olive finishes boiling the kettle and pours the water into my mug as I dance around, wiggling my arms and shaking my shoulders. I get weird looks but I shrug it off, grabbing the sugar and adding a few teaspoons before spinning to the fridge to get the milk. “Milk?” I ask.

“None, sadly. We’re out,” Alma says, so I shrug, grimace down at the black coffee, say my prayers and down the mug in seven seconds. I shudder at the taste, but instantly feel a boost, like my energy bar went from forty to eighty in five seconds. I shake my head around and wave my hands frantically before dropping the mug in the sink. I’m being watched with eyes full of wonder. With a sigh, I smile wide and leave the kitchen.

The rest of the children are finishing up breakfast, so I say hello to them all. They all greet me and Bronwyn takes my hand, guiding me outside to the garden where Claire and the twins are already laying out a picnic blanket and teacups. It’s a sweet little setup, and I can’t help but gush.

“Play tea-party with us?” Claire asks, the twins standing in unison and nodding their heads, making happy little gurgling sounds. I happily agree and they cheer, pulling me down to sit. 

For the next hour, we talk about what life outside the loop is like - and I make them promise not to let Miss Peregrine know that I gave them such details - and play tea-party. I pour our tenth ‘cup of tea’ and discuss politics with the girls, who nod along like everything I say is the most fascinating thing they’ve ever heard.

“Personally, I think men in power should be abolished,” I declare, taking a fake sip of my fake tea. The children clap, and by now, Fiona has come to sit with us. 

“How’s your mother, Josie?” Fiona asks politely, sipping her tea. I sigh, looking off to the side. To be honest? I’m not sure. I haven’t been out of the loop long enough to call, and I’m trying not to show how worried I am. So instead of breaking out into tears, I bite my lip and smile.

“Not sure, but I’m sure she’s fine!” The others hum, but don’t push further. A moment later, Jake approaches. Bronwyn jumps up to lift him and spin him in a circle. She’s giggling and he’s laughing too, patting her curls. Fiona waves him over and he actually comes to sit with us. “Hi, Jake! How’s things?” I ask politely, and he smiles at me like he’s overjoyed that I’m talking to him.

“Oh, I thought you hated me!” He confesses eagerly, and I give him a look of shock.

“What? Of course not!” I protest, and he raises his arms in weak defence.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to assume anything. So there’s a new Ymbryne? Is she OK? Miss Peregrine won’t tell me anything,” the children nod, but no one really says anything else, so the subject is dropped. Jake stays for a little while longer, watching on as there are no spare cups. He gets up a few minutes later and excuses himself, apparently needing to talk to the headmistress. We shrug as he walks away, continuing our party until the girls get bored and leave. The twins follow along, so I clean up the dishes and take everything back inside where I’m met with an elderly woman. I yelp as I swerve away from bumping right into her.

She gives a gentle laugh,

“Oh, I’m sorry dear, I didn’t mean to frighten you. You must be Josephine,” she says as she follows me at my side to the living room where the headmistress sits on the couch, rather elegantly must I say. I look away, swallowing heavily. 

“Uh, yes. That’s me,” I respond stupidly, tucking the picnic blanket and dishes into the corner along with the rest of the toys. Miss Avocet - I’m assuming - takes a seat beside her fellow Ymbryne, lacing her hands in her lap. I stand there awkwardly for a second, unsure of what to do with myself. So I nod stiffly and turn to leave. 

“Oh, won’t you stay? I’ve heard so much about you, I’d love to get to know you,” she asks, the sweetest smile on her face. I can feel my cheeks flushing, lips pursing in embarrassment. No one ever wanted to get to know me until I got here. I agree and sit between them, sandwiched. “Miss Peregrine spoke so fondly of you, won’t you tell me more about yourself? It’s rare for Ymbrynes to take to someone else so well, someone who isn’t their ward, that is.” 

I bark out a laugh, and when I realise she’s not joking, I stare at her, wide eyed.

“What?” I realise that my manners are all over the place, and I look at Alma for guidance, who simply smiles warmly at me. Unsure of what to do I look away, desperate for an escape.

A second later, Jacob walks in, demanding to talk to Miss Peregrine. I stand and sweep out of the room, seeing this as my chance to get back home, pack a suitcase and check the mail. My head rings as I realise I’d left the letter and package from maman unopened, so I make my way out of the home and through the bushes and trees to the cairn, ducking inside with a new determination .

~~~

The walk back to my house is calming. Being around the children and entertaining them saps a lot of energy from me, and the caffeine is already wearing off. My steps are sluggish, and I get a few strange looks as I trudge back to the house - I don’t realise until I’ve stepped through the door. It’s strange to them because of the old-style dress I’m wearing. Which shouldn’t  _ be  _ so strange, considering their own styles are quite outdated themselves, but whatever. Shrugging it off, I trundle up the stairs to pack some things into a suitcase. Toothbrush, toothpaste, cleansing products, underwear, spare bras and of course, clothes. I don’t own the best clothes, and it has never bothered me in the slightest. I don’t usually aim to please, and I like to tell myself that the beauty illusions I wear are for my own confidence,  _ not _ to impress beautiful women. Once I’m sure I can’t stuff anything else into my case, I struggle to zip it closed, even sitting on the top to squish everything down. I sling my bag over my shoulders and pull the suitcase down the stairs, nearly tripping and falling as I go but managing to make it to the bottom of the staircase without snapping my neck.

With a soft sigh, I retreat the hallway to the next room over - the kitchen, where the letter and package sit, unopened. With a sense of guilt, I tear it open with shaky, hesitant hands. Instead of reading it right away, I thumb the paper and take slow, calming breaths. I try not to think of how my mother could possibly be dead right now, but silently agree that I’ll use my renewed mobile data to call her once I’ve read the letter.

Another deep inhale, exhale, I open up the letter.

_ ‘Dearest Jo, _

_ I hope everything is going well over there, and I hope you’re doing amazing and you’ve made new friends, you antisocial little asshole. I want you to know how much I absolutely adore you, and all I’ve ever wanted was the best for you. You are an amazing young woman, please don’t forget that. _

_ I thought I’d send you this because sending letters is so classic and fun when you’re so far away! I hope to hear from you soon, and that reminds me! _

_ I’ll be out of France on a mini holiday with my friends from the fourth to the tenth of June, so if you call me, I won’t be able to pick up. I’m so sorry if this letter reaches you late and it’s already past the fourth, and if you’ve already tried to call haha! Loser. _

_ Have a good time, look after yourself. There’ll probably be another letter sent soon from where I’m staying in Venice, how fancy is that?  _

_ I love you, my darling, look after yourself, find a lovely woman, hahaha fat chance of that you goofy thing. _

_ Just kidding. Speak soon! _

_ Maman xxx’ _

I can’t even begin to mask my shock. I begin to silently cry, then wheeze, and then full on sob, collapsing to the ground in a heap. She’s alive? And in  _ Venice?!  _ I’m just about losing my mind, and I read over the letter again, tears drenching the paper. This can’t be right, there’s no fucking way. I hurry to stand and run outside to the mailbox. Inside, there’s more mail. It’s mostly welcoming letters from the housing company I bought this house under, electricity bills, a postcard from my deadbeat dad and-

Another letter from maman.

If this is really from her, then the phone call would be fake. But why would Uncle Jéry and Auntie Aimee lie about something so… deadly serious? I shake my head and turn to walk back inside, closing the door and leaning up against it as I carelessly throw the other, unimportant letters to the ground. I decide to read dad’s postcard first, and see if there’s anything important. Turns out, there is.

_ ‘Hey, pumpkin, this is papa. Hope you’re doing ok in Wales, we’re missing you over here. _

_ Just thought I’d let you know that I’m actually engaged, and due to be married later this year and you’re invited. Third time’s the charm, right? _

_ Also, your grandmother’s house was up for auction, but it was too large and too expensive for anyone to want. So, we’re converting it into something else. We don’t know what yet, but it’s got dozens of rooms, lol. _

_ Love you pumpkin, see you soon, _

_ Papa xx’ _

I roll my eyes. Of course he’s getting married again. The house surprises me, why would no one want such a huge mansion? It’s awesome? Something to think about later.

I throw the postcard to the floor and hastily open maman’s newest letter. It only arrived either yesterday or this morning, and as I check the stamp, it really came from Venice. Panicking but also shaking with anticipation, I open up the letter which is decorated with flowers and smells like her perfume. 

_ ‘My love! My dearest Jo, _

_ How are you? I haven’t heard from you, so I’m assuming you’re busy exploring and who knows, maybe you’ve made some friends, huh? _

_ I’ll keep this short because it costs money to send this and there’s not much to say other than I hope that you’re doing ok and that I love and miss you dearly! _

_ I’m going swimming today and I’ll be thinking of the way you flail your arms around when you swim like a drowning monkey. If you have the chance, give uncle Jéry a call? He gave me the jewellery and he wants to know what you think, that is, if the other letter has been delivered yet haha! I haven’t heard from him for a while, and I’m growing quite concerned. I haven’t heard from Aimee either, so if you do get a minute out of your no doubt busy schedule, please give them a ring. _

_ I love you! _

_ Maman xxx’ _

~~~

Lugging the suitcase up steep hills and through the cairn was difficult enough with such weak, shaky legs, and then I had to cross through the bog. Getting stuck multiple times and almost losing a shoe, splattering mud up the hems of poor Emma’s lovely dress, I finally crossed over to the trees and maneuvered my way through the spiky branches, waddling to the familiar flowery bushes and to the home. 

I stop in my tracks.

It’s noon, and there’s no sounds of children playing or laughing, and as I get closer to the door, I listen out for anything out of the ordinary. All I can hear are rushed footsteps and heavy stomping. There’s orders being thrown around, though I can’t clearly make them out - but it’s obviously Miss Peregrine dishing them out.

I open the door and step through, shocked at the sight of Alma crouched on the floor, pressing items meticulously into a large suitcase. She looks up when I walk in, frowns at the mud staining me, but comes over to give me a long, tight hug. I’m frozen only for a moment, before I hug her back. She presses her nose into my neck and breathes in, pulls away and smooths the stray hairs back over my head.

“Are you alright? What’s going on?” She can sense the worry in my voice, and I watch as the children don’t even stop to wave at me, simply bringing down suitcases and more items to stuff into the large suitcase. I go pale with concern, and Alma shushes me, but her face is full of worry itself, white skin blanched further, lips tugging downwards with sorrow.

“Wights have found the loop. We’re leaving to find a new one,” I think my eyes must go comically wide and my mouth gapes.

“What? But I thought you said-”

“It’s impossible, yes I know. It should be. But we’ve been found out,” she turns away like she can’t bear to look at me any longer. “I’m sorry I have to cut things so… short… between us that is.” She refuses to look my way when she admits this, her eyes trail down to the floor and stay there, gaze wavering with sadness. I make a mad decision to grab her hand and pull her back to me, bringing her eyes to meet mine with my palm cupping her jaw.

“I’m coming with you,” I say, and she opens her mouth to protest, but I give her a warning look that says ‘there’s no talking me out of this’, and she sighs, smiling.

“I adore you,” she says, giving me a kiss. It’s short, but I can still feel it when she’s pulled away.

“I adore you, too.”

“Miss Peregrine, the suitcase is full,” Fiona breaks the moment, and Alma turns around to face her, giving her a grateful smile. She approaches the suitcase and closes it - the twins join her and help by sitting on top of it to help her zip it closed.

She pats them gently on the head and ushers them off to help the others, when there’s a knock at the door. The whole house goes eerily silent. 

All footsteps cease, and I can already sense the danger from my spot beside the door, tensing up like a cat spotting a ghost.

“Josie. Come here,” Alma says, and as soon as I’m close enough, she pulls me into her and whispers, “stay with the children.” I nod and with one last glance at her stern look, I hurry to stand in front of the children at the bottom of the stairs, the twins holding onto each corner of my dress and making worried sounds. I attempt to comfort them by lovingly patting each of their heads, and Miss Peregrine goes to open the doors. There, she’s greeted by Jacob, who’s being held at knifepoint by a frightening man. The twins hold on tighter.

“Hello, Miss Peregrine, a pleasure to meet you at last! May we come in?”

A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry this came so late, I’ve been too miserable to proofread and post so I’ll try and do better.


	10. Chapter 10 - The Hollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Peregrine is taken by Barron, while Josie and her peculiar friends must fend for themselves against the attack of a bloodthirsty hollow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY THIS WAS SO LATE I LOST INSPIRATION BUT I FINALLY GOT IT BACK SO HERE YOU GO

Instead of moving aside, Miss Peregrine watches him with a ferocity that cannot be matched. Jake shakes in his hold, and looks like he wants to apologise for bringing a wight - probably unknowingly - into the loop.

“Children, would you please make your way down the stairs?” The wight grins, sharp teeth showing through, and Miss Peregrine raises a hand to freeze him in his next words. He seems shocked at her display of confidence as she spits out,

“Shush! I make the orders in this house,” the wight tilts his head knowingly.

“Not today! You see, Jake has served his purpose and helped to bring me here. Children! Come downstairs!” He demands, his blade-like arm still tight around Jake’s throat. Alma raises a hand and for a second I think she’s going to slap him - but instead, she holds up one finger, effectively shutting him up. _Damn._

“No one tells _my_ children what to do,” she carefully spins around, a delicate smile on her face, trying to reassure us despite the terrible situation that everything will be OK. “Children. Come downstairs,” she orders, and the children carefully come down, with a hesitance that can only surmount to fear. I usher them all behind me, holding onto the twins tightly at my sides. With a smile, Alma turns back around, but finds that the wight isn’t looking at her, nor Jacob.

He’s looking directly at me.

“You’re Josie, aren’t you? Your _mother_ spoke so fondly of you before she… took her little fall,” he mocks with faux compassion, and I narrow my eyes, anger boiling in my stomach.

“That’s Josephine, to you,” he laughs at me, and I can feel the rage in my fingertips, making my hands shake. I grip the twins tighter. They gently pat my legs.

“Uncle _Jéry_ was so sad to tell you, I wonder where he is now,” my cheeks flush in pure anger and I push the twins behind me, taking one step forward and glaring at him, unblinking.

“Enough with the riddles! It was you! _You_ were uncle Jéry on the phone. _You_ told me my mother wouldn’t make it. I already knew it was a lie, she sent mail from Venice!” I bark, and the look of shock on his face almost makes me laugh at him. He quickly recovers.

“Well, you found out. Shame, really. It would have been so fun to push her down the stairs while she was looking for your grandmother’s jewellery,” my fist clenches around the package, still unopened in my coat pocket. “You look just the same as you were when you were a tiny toddler. Adorable, innocent, you would make such a great addition to the group, you know. Forget flower crowns and beauty illusions, think about all the things you _can_ do, all the peculiars we could hire together.”

“Don’t listen to him Josie,” Alma warns, a pleading look in her eyes.

“You were there. You… you were there when my grandmother died,” I whisper, watching his smile widen, showing off rows of razor sharp teeth.

“Young lady, I’m the _reason_ your grandmother died.”

It’s like lightning goes off around us. 

My head is filled with noise and inconsolable _rage_ . This man killed my grandmother, a fellow peculiar for his own _sick_ gain. He probably had a hollow eat her eyes, and that’s why they cremated her and wouldn’t allow an open casket. I can feel my vision going black around the edges, my fists clenching so hard I feel the knuckles crack, bones creaking in protest, nails digging so hard into my palms I draw blood. I’ve never wanted nor felt the need to lose my absolute _shit_ with someone, but this man, grinning at me because he killed the only relative who truly understood me at the time, the woman I didn’t believe when she told me she had a peculiarity, the woman who apparently died a _gruesome_ death that no one wanted to let me know of because I was too sensitive and too ‘immature’ to understand despite being twenty - a viable adult.

I can hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears, and he’s talking to me again but I’m so blinded by vexation that all I can do is yell loudly as I punch him straight in the face.

“You killed her! You _killed_ my grandmother you _bastard_!” I’m screaming in French as someone, presumably Enoch, pulls me back, telling me to calm down. I spit at the man’s feet and curse him out, letting Enoch drag me away where the other children console me. I’m breathing heavily and I don’t hear their words, and I vaguely register that Miss Peregrine is directing her next words at us, the children. I breathe, Emma calms me down with a hug and I pull away to look back at the wight, who’s still holding Jacob. There’s a swelling in the wight’s nose from where I punched it, and I’m satisfied enough for now.

“Mr Barron would like to take me with him on his rendezvous to Blackpool in bird form, preferably caged, and he would like each of you to make your way into a lockable room such as the parlour as he fears that an attack will be mounted on him as soon as he loses his leverage. Isn’t that right, Mr Barron?” He seems surprised, and I remember Alma once telling me that there is very little she doesn’t know, and can’t explain. She was right.

“Come on. We have to go into the parlour,” Emma murmurs, taking my hand and helping me usher the other children into a messy line. Each child says their goodbye to Miss Peregrine, who is now bordering on tears. I’ve never seen such emotion from her, and it truly breaks my heart.

“Is he taking her? The wight?” I ask Emma, who’s standing right in front of me. She looks back and gives me a look full of nothing but coveted anger and pure sadness. I pat her back gently as she immediately goes to hug Miss Peregrine. It’s so saddening to see, a mother hugging her child goodbye for possibly the last time. There are tears down the woman’s cheeks. I’m too angry to cry, but when I’m next, her arms are already open. “I’ll find you and I’ll save you. We’ll save you. I promise.” I whisper into her ear, in French so that no one else understands. She hugs me tighter and kisses my cheek - I can feel her tears against my skin and my heart officially shatters.

“Take care of them. And yourself. Promise me,” she mumbles, and I pull away, giving a sharp nod, full of determination and promise, a stubbornness unmatched. I turn away lest I cry, and walk into the parlour, taking Emma’s hand when she offers it. Immediately, the twins rush to my side. Standing in the doorway, we watch Miss Peregrine give her final words to Jacob, before stepping away and transforming into a bird - a peregrine falcon.

I have no words, nor do I even have the capability to fathom what just happened and how she was probably the bird I’d taken pictures of just days prior. Emma squeezes my hand when Alma flies into the cage, and the wight closes it and locks it tight. He laughs as he throws Jake into the room, Emma and I reaching out to catch him. With one final, cruel ‘BOO!’ that makes the children jump in fright, the wight leaves and locks the doors behind him from the outside.

Once we’re sure he’s gone, Jacob speaks over the hushed, worried murmurs of the children.

“It’s getting dark, and you won’t even be able to see their shadows. Our safest bet is to stay inside,” Miss Avocet steps out from the darkness and instructs us all to barricade the doors and windows, ensuring that the hollow won’t come in at least right away - which, if I’m correct, is a large monster with hellish tongues that can probably barrel its way through metal. Instead of dwelling on the ‘if’s, I help by propping chairs and tables against the doors, scooting out of the way when Bronwyn shoves a sofa against the mess of furniture.

“Where does Miss Peregrine keep her weapon?” Enoch, Jake and Emma run off to go and find more weapons for everyone else to defend themselves with - which mostly consists of rakes and bamboo sticks. I’m handed a rake and the twins scurry over to stand behind me, holding a slightly rusted shovel together. The rest of the weapons are shovels, garden pliers, broomsticks, hoes and Miss Peregrine’s weapon - a crossbow. It's a shame I never got to see her use the crossbow, I’ll bet it’s hot as hell. “Now, your main priority is to stay safe! I don't want to see any heroics. Those of you with garden tools, I fully expect you to-” 

Miss Avocet is cut off by an invisible force smashing through the parlour doors and pulling her right through the hole it left behind. The children are screaming, but I’m too paralysed with fear to do anything other than stare in wide eyed shock. Luckily, Olive pulls me back, where the twins eagerly grab onto my dress and cry out in fear. Jacob has since launched himself onto the floor, lunging for the weapon and aiming it at whatever smashed through the barricade.

It must have been a hollow. I’ve heard that only Jake can see them, and it must be true because he seems to be aiming right at something with such concentration it can’t be possible. The beast smashes its way further into the room, the sound of its growl the only other thing allowing us to know it’s there. Jake is aiming but not firing, and with a hard shove, Enoch barrels his way through to the front and attempts to do what, I’m not sure but suddenly he’s being grabbed and hoisted into the air. Even the sight of him being up high like that makes my stomach churn with paranoia, and everyone begins screaming his name in fear, but no one is really doing anything useful - not that that’s surprising, given that no one can actually see the hollow.

After a minute of flailing, the monster flinging poor Enoch across the room back and forth, smashing him into paintings and mirrors - Jake shoots and Enoch collapses to the ground in a heap, where Olive and I run over to help pick him up.

“Get to the attic! Now!”

“Oh my god, are you alright?” I ask, and Enoch nods a bit as I let go and Olive drags him away upstairs. I pick Claire up and take her to the stairs, where the twins jump up and down, eager for me to pick them up and carry them to safety. By now, everyone else is clambering as fast as they can up the stairs, and Jake stumbles along behind me.

“Go!” He shouts, and I don’t hesitate to pick up the pace, leaping up two steps at a time and following Emma - who’s ahead of me by a few steps - into what I assume is the attic. Jake runs in right after me as I drop the twins, and together, we push the doors closed and barricade it - though there’s really no use. Full of panic, I pull the smaller children close and hug them tight to my legs. Miss Peregrine asked me to take care of them, so I will protect them with my life. 

Fiona leans out of the window and slides down the side of the roof over the wet tiles, landing in a puddle in the gutter. Palms splayed out, she reaches for the tree branch and manipulates it into growing towards the house in a sort of path to make it safely to the ground. I can hear the hollow smashing around, climbing up the stairs and crashing into anything blocking its way. 

“Jo! Take Claire and wait at the bottom. I’ll pass over Bronwyn and the twins!” Emma shouts over the noise and panic, and I immediately make my way over, scoop Claire up into my arms and seat myself on the window sill. I feel nauseated, never having been this high up. 

“Don’t look down. Just don’t look down. This is for Alma,” I quietly reassure myself. With one shaky breath, I slide down the tiles, screaming as I go and crash against the gutter, rainwater soaking through my dress. Claire lets go and I shakily drop her onto the gutter where she climbs across and Olive takes her into her own arms and makes her way across the thick branch Fiona had successfully grown.

Turning around, I can hear the loud thrashing of the hollow and Jacob shouting. It must have gotten through the weak barricades. Bronwyn slides down into my arms and speedily side-steps across the branch. Next, the twins, who land at either side and latch onto me. I pick them up in each arm, sliding my way through the gutter water, panting as I go out of fear. This is far too high for me, and I let go of them at the beginning of the bridge-like tree. They clamber across, hand in hand and climb down. They’re safe, thank goodness. 

Now, it’s my turn. 

I take one glance down and instantly feel like fainting, falling to my hands and knees. The children are calling my name, begging me to come down. My stomach begins to swoop and flip uncomfortably.

“I… I can’t… it’s too high, I’m scared!” I admit, crying. The sound of planes appear overhead but I’m so paralysed with fear I can hardly hear anything other than my own heartbeat blasting in my ears.

“Jump, Josie! We’ll catch you!” Fiona shouts, and I shake my head, the sight of the ground below making my chest so tight it’s hard to breathe.

“I can’t! I-I can’t breathe!” Instead of continuing to shout at me to jump, I hear footsteps approach behind me. At first I panic, thinking it’s the hollow about to scoop out my eyes, but instead a strong pair of arms loop around my waist and lift me up, carrying me across the branch. It’s Enoch, I’d recognise that chemical stench anywhere, the smell enveloping me as one of his hands presses my face into his chest, preventing me from looking at the ground.

Once down, he cradles me in his arms until I manage to breathe again, and carefully places me back onto the grass. Everyone rushes over and asks if I’m OK, but I feel so terribly guilty.

“Was that…?” Jacob begins to ask, but trails off.

“The loop closing,” Emma responds with tears in her eyes. “It’s gone.”

“I’m so sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to look so weak,” I say, evidently upset. Everyone coos and pats me.

“Everyone’s afraid of something,” Hugh says, and Olive takes my hand and squeezes it.

“But I’m supposed to protect you, not have you protect me. I didn’t want my fear getting in the way,” everyone is silent for a moment before Emma interjects.

“No one ever does. It’s OK to be afraid of heights, you braved it anyway, which is amazing. Now, we have to leave. Miss P is probably halfway to Blackpool by now, and we need to save her,” we take one last look at the lovely house before walking away for good. Now isn’t the time for grieving. Now is the time for saving our Ymbryne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice


	11. Chapter 11 - Saving Miss Peregrine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children take the Augusta to Blackpool where Miss P is being held hostage. Josie hatches a plan to get her back.

The children drag me down to the shore where the moon is shining down on the waves. The sight is breathtaking, but there’s no time to sit and stare.

“Barron’s gone. He must have had a boat,” Olive says from beside me, latching onto my arm.

“We have to go after him,” Jake says as he pulls Emma along by rope. He tugs her back down to the ground where she’s given her shoes and clips them back on.

“They’re miles away by now, probably already in Blackpool. Another ferry doesn’t leave for hours, we’ll never make it in time,” Millard grumbles, and the look of anguish from Emma’s face vanishes and is replaced by an idea.

“I know a boat we can take,” 

~~~

There is little time to even protest as Emma makes us follow her into the sea. Each of us paddle deeper and deeper until it’s time to dive under and get to the ruins of the Augusta. How we’ll get it to work, I have no idea, but I’m confident in Emma’s choice as she blows air bubbles onto each of our heads. I’m not sure how we get there so quick, but the minute we all squeeze ourselves into the hole at the top, Emma does her amazing thing - pushing out the water and fish, effectively emptying the boat.

“I’m going to fire up the engines. Get to the control room with Enoch and the little ones,” Olive says as she runs off to find the boiler room. Enoch nods at me and together, we gather Bronwyn, Claire, and the twins and take them to the cockpit. It takes a bit of navigating, but Enoch seems to know what he’s doing and I trust that he won’t get us lost. 

We eventually do find it and it’s damp and rusted and there’s a dead fish on the floor. We cringe, but Enoch drops Claire and Bronwyn… and we wait. A few minutes later, it’s made obvious that Olive has found the boiler room and has effectively started up the ship - the lights flicker on over our heads and down the hallway as Hugh, Horace and Millard find us and come running.

They cling to us and each other for leverage as the boat begins creaking so loudly it hurts our ears. The twins reach for me so I pick them up and cradle them against me. Seconds later, Olive appears, then Jake and Emma and Fiona. 

Enoch takes hold of the wheel and begins steering us out of the water, and the pressure and upwards angle pushes us all backwards. I slip on the damp floor and trip backwards into the wall, crashing against it with a sickening thump. That’ll leave a bruise. The rest of the children stumble backwards but grab onto each other and walls to prevent themselves from falling. A few seconds and a struggle later, we emerge from the water and crash upon the waves. There’s no time to wait and we immediately set off for Blackpool.

Able to balance now, we set ourselves to rights and no one talks for a while. I assume that the situation really just hit us. The children’s Ymbryne, their  _ mother  _ was taken from them and if we don’t arrive in time, she’ll die. I’ll lose the woman I’ve fallen in love with, the children will lose their caregiver, the woman who has looked after them for years, who has accepted them and their abilities and always encouraged them to be themselves no matter what they were taught before she was able to take them in.

I situate myself back against the wall and slide down until I’m sat cross legged on the damp floor, the water soaking through my dress and onto my arse.

I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the package - damp from the seawater - and unwrap the sopping paper surrounding it. It’s a little box, and inside as I gingerly open it up, is a gorgeous ring. My grandmother’s wedding ring. My mother had given me her mother’s ring, and I feel my eyes brim with tears but shake the feeling of misery off. She’s alive and OK, no one hurt her - it was all a lie and she’s having a blast in Venice. 

“You good?” Jake asks as he plops himself down beside me. I stare at the ring for a moment longer and reply,

“Yeah. You?” He nods. It’s silent for a minute as he stares at me, then at the ring between my fingertips. It glimmers under the harsh lighting, its sapphire and gold face shining up at me. I remember my grandmother wearing this - how she’d fondly touch it like it brought back such nice memories. Of her own mother, of her grandmother, of her husband who proposed to her with it… I’m not sure, but I think it’s a compilation of all of them. One big joyful memory. 

“That’s a beautiful ring. You thinking of giving that to someone?” Olive asks, and I hadn’t even realised she was there. I immediately think of Alma. Why? I’m not sure. I mean, I know I’ve fallen for her - but who wouldn’t, right? She’s gorgeous, is exactly the kind of woman I want to be with - confident, strong, kind and loving and cares for who she loves. She’s…

Just my type.

I sigh, and stare at the ring as the boat shakes and creaks. I should be worried, but for some reason, I’m content where I am, staring at the ring and thinking of getting down on one knee, taking Alma’s hand between my own and staring into those frosty blue eyes - ‘will you marry me?’ I’d ask, and… what would she say? Would she smile? Would she cry? Would she smile  _ and _ cry? Would she laugh at me?

I spin the ring between my fingers, the light catching on the sapphire.

“Yes. I am.”

~~~

The trip to Blackpool goes by quicker than expected - we dock rather roughly at the quay and clamber off with upset tummies. The dock is completely empty save us and our boat, and there’s a ghost train ride right behind us. 

“There! That’s the loop entrance. And that’s the Blackpool Tower, where they’re keeping Miss Peregrine,” Emma exclaims, pointing into the near distance at a rather large building. She leads us over to the loop entrance, taking a peek inside.

“Are you sure this is the entrance to the loop?” Jake asks as they step inside, the rest of us following after.

“I’m sure. The one in London is through a subway tunnel,” Emma peers through the doors once we’ve entered the loop and looks beyond outside. “This is definitely it. Look at all those people.” She waves us out, the music of the now open ride blaring in my ears. It’s upbeat and something you’d dance to at a club - not that I ever really went to clubs - and the outside is different from outside the loop. It’s snowing. I remember suddenly that this loop was created early in the year of two-thousand and sixteen. Makes sense that the ground is covered in a thin, pillowy layer of snow.

“OK. Everyone be prepared and get into position. Josie… go save her,” Jake says. I raise a brow in confusion. Fiona takes my hand and gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “You’re the eldest and more responsible. Your peculiarity is illusions. You can disguise yourself - we can’t. The other wights probably won’t even notice, at least not right away. Our safest bet is to stay here and distract the hollows while you go to the Blackpool Tower and save Miss P.”

“Jake, I… are you sure? I said I’d look after you all-“

“We don’t need looking after! Please save her!” Bronwyn cries out, tugging at my dress. I can’t possibly refuse, and Jake is right. With a long exhale, I give a final nod, and slide outside.

“Stay safe, or I’ll kill you!” I shout as I run to the Blackpool Tower. I get strange looks, and I’m not surprised - my choice in attire isn’t particularly modern, nor is it appropriate for such cold weather but it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting inside the tower and finding Alma and the other trapped Ymbrynes. I run into a tramline and there’s no sense running straight through - I’d always been taught how to be road safe. Looking both ways and deeming it safe, I continue my sprint straight through the doors of the Blackpool Tower. Once inside, I freeze.

I can already hear voices -  _ his  _ voice blaring out. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I quickly conjure a mirror and create a disguise. It’s a lot of work, and makes me sweat like nothing else. Once done and I’ve thoroughly checked that it looks good enough to be convincing, I swipe away the mirror. Hopefully, this’ll last a while. My energy isn’t too high, but it isn't super low either. I have a fair shot if I move quickly.

The disguise is simple enough. I’ve removed any redeeming features on my face that might help someone recognise me, and changed my hair colour and of course, my eyes. Now sporting the same dress, only in black, I shuck off my raincoat and hang it in the corner where it’ll hopefully not be found and I can come back to it later.

Fixing the collar, I step out of the shadows, only to step right back into them.

There are too many wights - one of them will surely notice that I’m not a real one. In a panic, I make a last minute decision to perform one of the hardest illusions I’ve ever created.

Invisibility.

Instead of being invisible like Millard, however, it’s a bit different. I can pick and choose who sees me and who doesn't - though technically I’m still visible. I blend into the background well enough to not be spotted by whomever I choose not to see me, which I think is a pretty cool skill to practice. Though terribly,  _ terribly  _ exhausting. So tiring, in fact, that I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull off the disguise afterwards. So I make it as quick as I can manage.

Peeking around the corner, I hear Emma’s voice - just like we’d planned. While their attention is on her, I put myself into stealth mode and immediately feel the energy being sucked out of me. Just ignore it, move, just ignore it and move…

While she shouts, I tip-toe-run around the edge of the room to the other side. Just as the spell is wearing off and I can barely breathe or stand, I stumble into an uninhabited corner and collapse to my hands and knees, gasping for breath. It doesn’t help that in stressful situations, I hold my breath. Taking a second to pant for air, I glance back around the corner I came from, and Barron yells for someone to go and follow Emma and Jake to the pier. Thankfully they’re already gone, hopefully safe and halfway to the pier by now.

There are two hallways on either side of me, and I have no clue which one to take. Instead of dwelling on it, I take the right one and run as fast as my energy will manage, checking every now and again that my disguise is still visible.

Hearing voices ahead, I put on my nastiest, resting bitchface, smooth out my dress, tame my hair and turn the corner.

There are two men coming my way, and when they see me, they smile and obviously check me out, not even bothering to be subtle about it. I guess when you turn into a wight, not only do you lose your humanity and natural eye colour, but also your dignity and respect for women. I fend off the angry flush and approach them with a smile, ready to speak whatever bullshit happens to come out of my mouth.

Luckily, I have the sense to change up my accent to a clean, British one.

“Gentlemen! Won’t you please help me? Mr Barron instructed that I check that the Ymbrynes are still in the area he left them - you see, there’s a spot of bother down at the pier with those peculiar children and he wants to make sure the experiment will still go by smoothly,” they look at me funny for a moment, and just when I think I’ve fucked up and I’ll have to kick some ass, they smile and ask to take me there, personally. How fucking lucky am I.

They take me all the way there as per their promise, and leave when we get to the doors. Once I’m sure they’ve rounded the corner and are definitely gone, I open the doors, only to find they’re locked. Guess I’m not so lucky after all. Idiots didn’t even offer a key.

I can feel my illusion slipping, like makeup melting in the summer heat, and I know I have to think quickly. Marking the door in my mind, I hurry to find another room and hope that there’s a weapon of any kind nearby.

There must be a saint or deity of some kind looking out for me, because hanging on the wall like a trophy is an axe. I thank the Lord and hop up on the red couch, hoisting the axe off of the mantle. A voice startles me,

“What do you think you’re doing?” Shit.

Looking over, there’s a man standing there. He’s definitely a wight, and is just about ready to kill me. Not even trying to make up a cover story, I let the illusion slip and smile awkwardly, climbing down from the couch. I have no idea what his peculiarity is, and I’m not sure if he’s figured mine out yet - and I don’t want to give him the time to. So instead of thinking rationally, I swing the axe blindly and completely miss. He laughs at me, mocking and comes forth, fists growing in size. Oh God, of  _ course  _ he’s got an enlargement peculiarity. With a tired sigh, I hold up the axe to defend myself and swing again. I miss, again.

He’s laughing and backing me against a wall, and once he has me effectively pinned, he grabs the axe, rips it from my hands and throws it behind him as it slides across the floor, far from reach. I have to think fast or this guy’s massive fist is going to crush my skull. He reaches forward and tucks some hair behind my ear - and like a reflex, my knee juts up and into his balls.

He cries out, and while he’s crouching and holding onto his nether regions, I slam my elbow into the top of his head. He tumbles to the ground in a heap, groaning as he goes. I waste no time in hopping over his body and running for the axe, shutting the door behind me.

Sighing in relief, I find the door and once I’m certain no one else is around, with the last bit of my energy, I hack at the lock on the door repeatedly until it splits open. Without wasting a breath, I dip inside and close it behind me, panting heavily out of exertion. I have to take a moment to breathe before I’m able to move again, but when I do, I register the birds chirping behind me. They're not the kind of birds you’d hear on your daily walk in the park.

I turn, and directly across from me is a huge birdcage filled with Ymbrynes. A distinctive chirp - one I recognise from the first day I arrived on Cairnholm on the ferry. A peregrine falcon.

There, to my right, in a tiny, tight cage, is Alma. She’s watching me, and I give her a little wave.

“Hello. I told you I’d save you,” I mutter, finding just enough energy to grin at her before lurching forward with my hands braced on my thighs, dripping with sweat. “Man. You have no  _ idea  _ how long it took me to get in here, or what I had to do.” With one last gasp, I heave myself up, walk forward, aim the axe at the lock, and bear down.

Luckily, the Ymbrynes had enough sense to move to the sides and give me room - and with one hit, the cage is open. They fly out and around the room, then up through the ceiling, into the world.

“Oh God. Alma, I was so worried, I-” the sound of a door opening scares me out of my monologue, and there, walking into the room, is Barron himself.

“Oh. Well, isn’t this a surprise and a half,” he approaches me, and I make one, split second decision. 

I clone myself.

He takes a step back and watches as multiple me holds multiple axes, blocking Miss Peregrine from his view.

“Which one’s which, huh Mr Barron? You’d better find out quick…” I taunt, and my clones start dancing around, laughing and swinging axes that go right through him. While he’s distracted by clones who swing axes right through him and give him hard shoves, his face at a total loss, I reach for Miss Peregrine’s cage, running for the exit. 

To my chagrin, I don’t get there in time. I’m slow, and weak, and Mr Barron can tell. He laughs at me, and as the last bits of my energy are sapped out, my illusions disappear in quick succession, and he crowds me into a corner, Miss Peregrine cradled tightly to my chest. She’s chirping in panic, probably saying something along the lines of ‘you idiot, why did you do this?!’

I don’t have time to stress about what she’s trying to say as Barron corners me and ensures I can’t possibly escape. I vaguely register that I’m near crying. Out of fear? Probably. Out of fear for Miss Peregrine’s life? Definitely.

“Take me instead. Let her go,” I stammer out, and Alma makes a sound of angry protest. It’s a stupid shot, I know, but I can’t think of anything else in the moment.

“You know that’s not how it works, Josie. I need an Ymbryne, and you’re just a stupid, air headed little girl, who can’t even formulate enough of a plan for it to be even  _ slightly  _ successful.  _ Pathetic _ . You use that peculiarity for something so useless, Josie. You can join us, and become immortal. Not only will I give you that, but you’ll never run out of energy. Wouldn’t that be-”

“Oh fuck off, grasshopper,” Barron freezes. Before he even has the chance to turn around, a bat swings into the side of his head, and he slumps against the wall and crumbles to the ground, effectively knocked out. With a breath of relief, I look up from his body to my last, flickering clone, bat swinging into its hand rhythmically.

“Thanks. Could’ve been a bit quicker, but you did OK. I’ll give it a B,” the clone, unable to say anything further, raises an eyebrow. So typical of me. “Alright then, Double Trouble. B+.” The clone takes a second to ponder, finger on its chin, and then nods, waving goodbye as it vanishes into thin air with the rest of my energy.

I drop to my knees in a heap and with the cage, and crawl to the center of the room where I let Miss Peregrine out. She hops onto the floor and in a flash of feathers, she’s back to her old self.

She immediately kneels on the floor and tilts my head up.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? That was such a brave thing you did, I’m so proud of you. You did as promised, gosh I adore you-” I cut her off with a long, tired sigh,

“Je t’aime,” I mumble, before I pass out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ty for reading eyyyy  
> Next chapter is the end 😳

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to drop a comment. Should I continue or nah?  
> My twitter is @jin_pa_ca


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